


Worm-in-Waiting

by The_Watchers_Network



Category: Parahumans Series - Wildbow, Warframe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Betaed, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Epic, Gen, Long Term Plot, Mystery, Suspense, Wordcount: Over 100.000
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:29:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 34
Words: 208,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24289729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Watchers_Network/pseuds/The_Watchers_Network
Summary: Monster, Devil, Human. Words, which we give power to. We formed them, shaped them, altered them to our needs, watching them grow like children. And in time, shape us, changing our very nature and identities with their mere existence, until they are the ones with the power to control us. Cause and effect, effect and cause, cycles within cycles. A Worm... in Waiting. -Executor Ballas
Comments: 19
Kudos: 66





	1. 1.1 Pain Threshold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Six things before we start.
> 
> First: I’m not in love with the story name, while I do like how it references several things, it feels janky to me. Just felt like pointing that out.
> 
> Second: I’ve found that I’m better at writing overarching plots than the detail work, so don’t expect rapid updates; hell, I even end up writing a random part then finding ways of linking them to the rest of a chapter.
> 
> Third: As a rule, if I ever abandon my works, I’ll say beforehand and give out my notes on it to the one that wants to continue it.
> 
> Fourth: If you don’t know Worm, you should really go and read it; if you don’t know Warframe… that one is a little more problematic, but a few YouTube videos should fix that. Unless you really want to play it, then go and do that, but full knowledge isn’t required; though it could help you catch the little details I plan on adding, but I’ll end up covering most things lore wise so it’s all good if you don’t.   
>  But there will be spoilers if you aren’t up to date with the ‘Main Quests.’
> 
> Fifth: One of the main reasons I'm cross-posting on Spacebattles (and now here) is so I can cut down on the A/Ns at the end of chapters. Going here means I can better communicate without stacking it into the Chapter/s proper, though there will still be a few A/Ns popping up (and I'm more or less copying and pasting the what has been written up to this point, I'm just spreading the Chapters out so people can talk about it, when SB is caught up then the A/Ns will be different). Another is that while FF.net is good for getting stories out to read, it's less effective at getting feedback on your writing skill, so I'm hoping that posting here will help me improve (crosses fingers).
> 
> Sixth: This is not the story I wanted to start with, but it was one that I couldn’t stop writing, so, here we go.
> 
> (Also trying to figure this site out so give me a bit)
> 
> * * *

Despite the fact that his bike neither needed to make the sound, that he really needed to bring the attention to himself, Armsmaster still enjoyed revving his motorcycle's engine at traffic lights.

  
It was a simple action, one that drew looks of envy from those street side as well as the few in the nearby cars, and while Armsmaster could honestly say that he could occasionally miss some social cues, even he understood the feelings that the image of him atop his Tinker Tech bike could draw out. It also served the purpose of letting other drivers know he was around them, because despite his high-profile nature, as it wasn’t hard to see his blue and silver power armor, there were still several times that Armsmaster was nearly hit while traveling through the city.

  
He was extremely thankful for his recording software in those cases, even though it meant dealing with the police and their disproval with the fact that technically, his bike wasn’t street legal due to its armaments.

  
The only downside to his visibility was the fact that he was currently in downtown Brockton Bay, a place which he not only felt like he was wasting his, and by extension the Protectorates, time.

  
Given the nature of common Capes, it was extremely unlikely that one would cause an incident here. Most either had enough common sense to know how to maintain the status quo of not forcing the PRT to bring the hammer down on them in their own ‘territory,’ or were smart enough to stay out of sight and/or keep involvement/damage to a minimum (Uber and Leet came to Armsmasters mind with the many stunts they had once pulled in this case). The average Brockton Bay Cape knew that there was no profit in the area worth the risk of the PRTs response, and though the Merchants were known to do stupid things, they also tended to have enough smarts left to know where they weren’t wanted.

  
A minor plus to the travel was the fact he gave his various types of software a workout, including his current project, a combat predictive algorithm that, in theory, would greatly increase his ability to combat foes, provided that he could get the right data on them.

  
But other than that, Armsmaster disliked having patrol anywhere near downtown, he viewed having to pass through areas ‘overseen’ by the Empire or the Protectorate as inefficient in terms of the PRTs time.  
Oh, he understood the PR value, it had been explained in great detail when he had first started out, and while he didn’t always care for the idea (as there were several thoughts and ideas he had had throughout the years that were prohibited because of ‘image’) he understood quite well about the public having a good view of heroes.

  
Armsmasters musing was cut short as an alert popped up in his visors HUD, what was strange about it was that it came straight from the APPAS.

  
The Automatic Police-Protectorate Alert System.

  
Back in Armsmaster's early days, the APPAS was his flagship program used to somewhat great effect in his starting city, but it wasn’t until Dragon came along and reworked it that it became common within the PRT and their affiliates. In terms of complexity, APPAS was rather barebones, as due to security concerns it wasn’t as interconnected within the servers as Armsmaster wanted, but it did its job. 

  
APPAS automatically monitored both Police bands and call centers for key cape words and phrases, as well kept an eye on public social networks and forms with text tracker-bots for any Parahuman events/activities by using several heuristic algorithms. Then it rated, tracked, and gave alerts to the PRT for those events if they fell under certain categories. 

  
The system rated things on several factors: the number of calls coming into both the PRT/police call centers, it cross-referenced various recent posts from PHO and other sources, then it compared the data to the PRTs own data sets, checking for commonalities, like names, powers, location, past attacks and what not. After that it rated it with both a color (for its public visibility), and a number (for its severity), all based on established past data.

  
It had worked surprisingly well according to the higher-ups, though in Armsmasters opinion it was rather lackluster and prone to bugs due to how often capes were talked about, along with how often people blew things out of proportion (but that was mostly due to a lack of his social networking skills during those early programming days). It was something that he just never got around to fixing because of the overall inefficiency of the program; humans were just too unpredictable and illogical for the program to work without integrating it into every system and coupling it with both a complete recording of all capes powers, as well as a dedicated team in each city or AI to shift through the data to confirm its accuracy.

  
Still, an average decrease in several minutes of response time for the PRT was good overall, even if it just stemmed from the quick-reaction teams getting a bit of a heads up before local police called in the PRT.

  
At first, Armsmaster didn’t react to the alert, mostly because of the ranking; a dark red signifying immediate public threat. But considering that there was no corresponding number, such an alert was unlikely.

  
The last Red was when Hookwolf was spotted fighting Lung just outside of downtown. Console would have told him about any developing situation long before it got this bad, and if it was an Endbringer then he would have known about it well before APPAS did.

  
It was after, highly unlikely that a Cape fight of that magnitude would not have some witnesses or police calls beforehand, and not just explode into a busy street out of nowhere.

  
Armsmaster hesitated however; there was a location, and he trusted both his work and Dragons, even if the system did have its… moments.

  
The time he crashed a ‘cape costume party’ a few years back came to mind.

  
But… it was unlikely anything would happen in this part of downtown anyway.

  
A quick rev of his bike, a course plotted on his HUD, and Armsmaster began to move quickly through the streets, thankful for the PRT altered Police given siren to make his way. As he went, a few eye movements triggered his radio, while he sent a quick audio message to both the PRT Data Techs and Miss Militia about a possible APPAS Red (as well as an alert to Dragon, given her work on the program. ). Protocol needed to be followed after all…

  
“Armsmaster, can you see it?”

  
Or Miss Militia could contact him.

  
“Militia,” Armsmastere greeted. “I just got an alert, from APAA-“

  
“Armsmaster, can you see it?”

  
Colin blinked, and made some adjustments were made to the course for an increase in speed while unlocking some systems in his bike to allow for some of its more… unconventional, features to be used.

  
It was very rare for Miss Militia to sound too harried, she usually was an emotional rock for the team, managing more of the emotional side of things where he could not.

  
And to cut him off as such… Armsmaster could count the number of times that Miss Militia had been less and professional and polite.

  
A common thread of them all involved either body bags and/or live ammo.

  
“I have a Red from APAAS with no ratings, I’m currently heading out of downtown right now and enroute. What’s happened?”

  
On the other line, Miss Militia cursed; an even rarer occurrence. “I forgot you’re downtown, no line of sight. Get here now Colin, we might need backup, you’ll know why when you see it. We don’t have much to go on right now, but Piggot wants all-hands-on-deck and a report before…”

  
Armsmaster found it hard to listen to the female hero as he cleared the last major corner in the downtown area, and the skyline cleared out in front of him.

  
Mostly because he spotted what she was so considered about, and she was right about knowing it when you saw it. 

  
Armsmaster opened the throttle wide and disabled a few safeties, further increasing his speed as he roared towards his destination.

  
Winslow High School.

* * *

  
When Armsmaster pulled up to the school, he was disappointed with the fact that he had only passed one roadblock. This wasn’t to say he found the PRT response time inadequate, given the scope of the incident; after all, there were several PRT vans parked around the school with tents set up, and the various troopers were quickly and swiftly clearing an area several blocks wide of civilians; going door to door as needed.

  
No, it was the fact that they were working from the inside out of the location that drew his ire. The fact that they hadn’t split off as they had gathered at the school spoke of both communication and protocol issues that needed to be addressed.

  
Not to say that the PRT was anything but effective in segmenting off the area, corralling witnesses along the streets, taking statements, as well as coordinating with the local police officers for the extra manpower, but it was clear to Armsmaster that this all happened at once, because many of them were tripping over each other in the process of getting the job done.

  
The result was a machine that worked but was ungreased.

  
Rather than force his way into the currently controlled chaos that was PRT operations, Armsmaster triggered the beacons he had installed into his local Protectorates members gear. A waypoint would show him the way rather than waste time searching.  
He got six hits.

  
Which was a problem because he knew that Assault and Battery were out of town for a late holiday and none of the others could have gotten here before him without assistance or checking in with him. That meant that not only had some of the Wards gotten there before him, but that they also took it upon themselves to get here in the first place, without notifying him or console.

  
Both points were further causes for concern about the whole scenario.

  
The grounds surrounding Winslow had become a mishmash of PRT tents, PRT vans, abandoned vehicles, a few ambulances, as well as some hastily set up pop-up fences based off Tinker Tech, blocking off sections of the surrounding grounds. One section was clearly set up as medical, as he spotted a familiar young brown-haired girl going from one tent to another alongside medics as he traveled towards where Miss Militias beacon stated she was.

  
Miss Militia was busy when he got to her, talking to a PRT Captain, his Lieutenants, and several police officers, as such Armsmaster paused to fire off yet another message to Dragon, slightly worried about the fact she hadn’t replied yet.   
he was usually good about that sort of thing, even if it was just a notification that she had gotten his message.

  
Out of the corner of his eye he spotted Clockblocker approaching; behind him was Gallant, who seemed to be trying to comfort a petite brown-haired girl who, to his ears, seemed to be in the midst of a breakdown with something involving her friends and mistakes.

  
Clockblocker was also missing his right arm.

  
Armsmaster stared at the stump of Clockblocker’s arm; it seemed he still had the ball joint, but other than that it ended less than a hands’ length away from his collarbone.

  
Nothing in the few reports he had gotten along the way had alerted him to any combat and Clockblocker’s skintight white costume was unmarked and undamaged, so there was no reason that one of his Wards should have gotten injured.

  
This was just another thing in the list of things he found unacceptable about this whole situation.

  
“Good for you to show Armsmaster, we could use a hand around here,” Clockblocker said.

  
Despite the fact he was wearing a helmet that completely covered his head, Colin could vividly see the smile that the young hero was sporting at the moment.

  
“In all seriousness,” Clockblocker continued. “Don’t touch it, or use your power on it, not that you have a power to use on it per say, but hey, at least with Panacea here the medical bills won’t cost you an arm or a leg!”

  
“Least to mention that doing any of that would be breaking protocol,” Armsmaster angrily shot back to the young hero. “And a massive failure of the lessons that I’ve taught to the Wards.”

  
Even though the words carried the metaphorical weight and danger of several runaway train cars, Clockblocker failed to see and hear the signs and continued to barrel forward onto the tracks.

  
“Well, I still got a leg up on the competition!” Cracked Clockblocker.

  
Gallant came up after leaving the crying girl in the hands of an PRT trooper and, like the hero that he was, managed to pull his friend away before impact. 

  
Via headlock.

  
“Sorry sir, Clock here thought he could use his powers to freeze… whatever this is, so it would stop affecting people,” said Gallant as his friend struggled against the teen and his medieval-styled power armor. “He’s just lucky that Panacea was right next to him to separate his arm.”

  
“It resisted his power? And counterattacked?” Armsmaster asked, marking Clockblocker down for a talk (later, of course).

  
Both were troubling, powers could sometimes interact in strange ways, and rarely for the benefit for those around.

  
Gallant shook his head. “More like… Reacted to it? Clocks arm was engulfed in some kind of gold light that started at his hand and shot up his arm in seconds. Amy said there was nothing she could do to it to make it stop, so losing the arm was the best bet. Then I had to hit him with my power to keep him calm, but it seems it’s even affecting even my powers as well.”

Gallant jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “That girl over there was just having a mild panic attack when I got to her, I tried to calm her down and you saw what happened. We even had to send Glory Girl away because her aura was screwing with people, mixing up their emotions when she tried to calm them.”

  
Armsmaster absorbed the info (and discarded Clocks ‘punishment’ note), strange power interactions weren’t unheard of, but it was rare, filing it away even as he read the message he just got from Dragon; She was busy dealing with the Director and logistics for her suits and was on her way.

  
“You mentioned other effects, what are they?” Armsmaster asked the pair of young Heroes.

  
“Don’t touch it directly, for starters,” Miss Militia interjected, walking over to the group, a gun nestled on her hip. Unlike the Wards, she looked more put together, her custom fatigues, American Flag scarf and sash in place, while the younger heroes both had parts of their gear askew.

  
“We don’t know the ups and downs of limits,” she continued. “But direct contact seems to affect the body in ways that Panacea can’t understand, let alone change, plus there seems to be a slight mental damaging effect as well. Some of the kids that we’ve pulled out of there are showing signs of something more than the PTSD that this event would influence.”

  
“Can we confirm a Stranger or Master Effect?” Armsmaster asked.

  
“A low-level Master could be likely, as well as a Stranger,” replied Miss Militia. “Many are reporting hearing laughter, and seeing things that are not there, some of what they describe matches up to what a few others are saying as well, but we don’t have anything concrete just yet.”

  
“Any issues with parents? Or the locals in the area?” Armsmaster asked.

  
“Many,” Miss Militia said dryly. “But nothing we currently can’t handle.”

  
Armsmaster hummed and turned his attention to that little data his own sensors were able to provide.

  
The blueprints for Winslow High were simple, a single grey block of a building, several floors tall. The newer plans stated that there were bars on the ground floor windows, as well as reinforced gates barring entrance to the building itself. It looked like any other shady area high school that was falling behind due to budget and the area it was in.

  
What was interesting was the over three hundred foot tall ice tree that had ruptured from the building.

  
Leafless ice-white branches jutted from windows and through walls, several ones being thicker than a person twisting around in interlocking patterns, reaching both up into the air, and scattering along into the surrounding grounds. Tangles of limbs crossed over each other, with no discernable difference between them as they melded together and split again, as the clear-but-not-clear frozen-water-like branches stretched far into the sky or reached into the surrounding grounds like ivy. 

  
The entire thing ended up looking like someone had yanked an entire oak/poplar tree hybrid out of the ground until the base of its roots were fully visible, complete with the underground boulder they had wrapped around.

  
To Armsmaster's eyes, there was no way this structure could support itself, even his armor mounted sensors were giving him strange readings. No temperature differences, the branches weren’t giving off any abnormal readings of any kind, no Rads, radio signals, nothing besides the fact that they were there. And despite the internal glow they had about them, they did not seem to emit light nor even refract it.

  
But as the hero had heard many times, Powers were bullshit.

“Almost looks like an ice sculpture,” Clockblocker quipped. “The guy that made it must’ve had his hands full wielding that chainsaw.”

Gallant facepalmed, and Miss Militia began to pull the young hero away before Armsmaster could set him ablaze with a glare.

“The PRT has set up the command tent over here,” spoke Gallant with a wave of his arm. “Last I heard, they’d finished setting up the link to the Director and Dragon.”


	2. 1.2 Pain Threshold

“Explain; what is happening here.”

  
The ‘command tent’ that the PRT had set up really was just a standard tent. Granted one with Tinker-tech based fabric that could stop most shrapnel, but at the end of the day, it was still just a tent.

  
Several folding tables had been set up where the PRT had officers working on paperwork, phones, and a few laptops, while one of the other tables was set aside for the Protectorate members to meet, which included the dual images of Dragon and a stern Director Piggot on a screen. Armsmaster, Miss Militia, and Gallant were the only ones standing in front of it. Kid Win and Aegis were helping with the PRT, while Clockblocker was being held near the medical tent to get a new arm formed by Panacea (when she had the time of course).

  
Gallant fidgeted. “Ma’am, that uh…”

  
“We don’t have the full story yet,” spoke Miss Militia, saving the two others in the room. “Given how fast this event as happened, as well as the… issues that have stemmed from it. What we do know is that there have been no demands nor is anyone stepping forward to claim responsibility for his incident. We’ve been told that there were no suspicious personal spotted outside or entering the school as well. The PRT is following protocol in dealing with the event, and other than a few… issues, that we are resolving, it seems that we now have the area under control.”

  
Director Piggot pinched the bridge of her nose before speaking. “I hope so, I just got off with the Chief Director, this event is getting national coverage due to both Brockton Bay’s own infamy and the fact you can see it from across the city. There was even some talk of it being the Nine again, or the return of Artic.”

  
“Artics last known location was South America,” spoke Dragon. “And that was over ten years ago, and the Nine were last spotted in Iowa, so it is unlikely to be either of them. Given what little we know, and where it’s happening, my bet is a new Trigger.”  
To this Armsmaster nodded. “APPAS never could predict Trigger Events due to their unpredictable nature, another point for better integration into the networks.”

  
Piggot gave her best glare at the armored hero. “We’ve been over this before Armsmaster,” she said. “Neither the lawmakers nor the citizens themselves like the idea of a Big Brother system, even if it does let us get ahead of criminal cape activity.”  
Armsmaster, seemingly impervious to the glare, only nodded again and asked, “Dragon, how fast can your suits get here for an analysis of the tree?”

  
The Canadian hero's avatar glanced away for a moment. “I’ve got two on the way now, with a third on standby, but that’s mostly because the first is just a quick-reaction unit, a modified Cawthorne. Basic systems and sensors but high speed, don’t expect much from it other than a morale boost and simple assistance; the second has better gear but will arrive a few hours afterwards because of it.”

  
“Good, with the size of the event, your suits might be the best bet for us to get expanded readings on this tree,” said Armsmaster. “The Response Teams have finished a basic survey, as per protocol.”   
Despite not even looking in his direction, Armsmaster managed to direct his words at Gallant, who didn’t flinch. 

  
“To all outwards appearances, we’re dealing with ice.”

  
“Ice,” deadpaned the Director.

  
Whether Armsmaster heard the dry tone, or if he understood it was up to debate. Still, he continued speaking, though he did seem to not be looking at the Director. 

  
“Yes, a sample taken has shown that the material is water which has been frozen at room temperatures. There are inconsistencies that can be attributed to a cape power, however. For one it’s ultrapure water, at least according to what tests we can do in the field. There are no impurities in the ice and the pH is a near-perfect 7.0, but again, more tests are required to get a full analysis. Which is a problem because the ice is stronger than steel.”

  
“Powers bullshit?” asked Piggot dryly.

  
“As many have said before,” Armsmaster continued without a beat. “The PR Teams needed to use a rotary saw and change the blades twice just to break off a piece from an outcropping needed for testing, I was told that it was only the size of a thumb. Furthermore, there seems to be no reason for it to be glowing; no detectable power is running through it and the Lumens coming off it barely match an old incandescent bulb, and yet its glow is clearly visible from the other side of the city. In addition, its albedo ratings are off, it is functionally ice according to the tests, yet it refracts less of the infrared spectrum than it should.”

  
“Definitely Powers bullshit,” Armsmaster muttered at the end, seemingly lost in his HUD.

  
“This is on top of the effects it has on the human body,” added Miss Militia. “Panacea is currently treating the injured and will be able to give more details on that when she has a moment. But we do know that there are signs of a mental affecting component tied to it, plus, it seems it can also affect powers, as seen from Clockblocker, Glory Girl and myself.”

  
At this Miss Militia raised her arm up with her hand open, and the gun that was holstered at her hip dissolved into a black and green blur and floated up to her hand, flickering for a second before it changed into a combat knife; still green-and-black, and blurry around the edges. A second or two later the colors shifted and altered, and it became nothing more than a knife. This display drew the eyes of everyone in the room, including Armsmasters.

  
After all, it was a far cry from her usual display of power.

  
“And this is happening because of the tree?” Piggot asked after a few moments.

  
“It is the only thing I could think of,” remarked Miss Militia, her blade flicking back into its back into a gun and falling into place in her holster after a few moments. “I have yet to experience any other effects, I was one of the few that entered the building for a short time before the incident with Clockblocker. Luckily Panacea said that she found nothing wrong with me, and others have had somewhat… similar, experiences, only to bounce back with no ill effects as well.”

“That doesn’t mean you should ignore it,” said Panacea as she entered the tent. “I have no idea what is happening and only a few ideas on why it does.”

  
The PRT officer escorting the healer through the tent nodded to the heroes and then the Director. “Ma’am, we have secured the area and see no more signs of anyone coming out. Panacea has dealt with most of the severely injured at this time, the rest can be helped by the medics and others.”

  
The man shifted for a moment. “And we have confirmed several fatalities.”

  
Piggot cursed. “From the Event?”

  
“From what we can tell, yes some,” the officer replied. “Several however were from the aftermath or as a result; falling from windows, getting trampled by panicking students during the escape, or the effects this thing has on the mind seemingly driving them mad. We had to take down several students with obvious gang ties with foam because they were acting erratically, one of them… permanently, due to complications in restraining him.”

  
Piggot cursed again, with more conviction. “That's the last thing we need right now, the news networks are circling, the city is half panicked, the Chief Director is breathing down my neck, and now we have dead kids.”

  
There was a moment of silence. People dying was a fact of life for most capes with the occasional fight going just too far, powered gang violence, and even the Endbringers, it was no different than any other dangerous public service, just like firefighters and the police, other being the PR issues.

  
Capes were still a relatively new phenomenon in the age of civilization. If a cop or firefighter gets killed in the line of duty the public mourns; if a cape dies, the public panics and asks questions. Seeing what amounts to a superstar superhuman in charge of protecting them from other superpowered humans getting killed really cast the PRT and the Protectorate in a bad light.

  
Luckily, just like the other public services, parahuman deaths or related deaths didn’t happen all that often; but it was still far more common on a day to day basis than the public realized.

  
Things just got even worse when it started involving the public themselves getting hit in the crossfire.

  
The Director sighed. “Panacea, please, provide me with some good news.”

  
It would seem strange from the outside that an young mousy high schooler was standing with several members of the Protectorate just outside a Parahuman Event, but that was just Brockton Bay for you.

  
“Ok then, none of the PRT members that I’ve checked had been affected,” said Amy. “And from what I’ve pieced together, getting affected requires skin contact, or at least nothing in the way of physical contact.”

  
At this Amy ran a hand through for brown hair and shook her head. “I can’t explain it, it’s acting like radiation, messing with the cells’ functions and giving the body errors, but it’s not majorly harmful on the surface. And unlike radiation, there is no spread, it’s all mostly localized to a random area, kinda like an infection. I can straight up fix radiation in most cases, it’s just a matter repairing the damaged cells and correcting the DNA, taking biomass from other areas as fuel for the restructuring, it’s one of the reasons that my patients need to eat soon after I’m done with them. With this… I can’t do anything to it, I can’t heal the affected areas.”

  
“Like you can’t affect brains?” Armsmaster asked.

  
“No, I can still see the brain,” Amy clarified. “With this, it’s like… it’s like the affected part isn’t there. My power knows how it should go, what should go where, so it fills in the blanks, but it’s like seeing an overlay of what it should be, a map instead of the actual street, a gap in my knowledge.”

  
Amy ducked her head and shifted nervously. “Sorry, trying to explain how my power works on top of this just makes it harder, but if I can’t affect it, then it’s not cellular.”

  
“Hence the radiation example, do you believe that its affecting things on the molecular level?” asks Armsmaster.

“It’s the only thing that makes any sense,” Amy replied. “But normally I can still fix that, or break down whatever is gotten damaged to replace it, it’s just a matter of, well, seeing what is having trouble, like a chipped or stuck gear, then replacing or repairing it, but here…”

  
“It resists, or you can’t see it,” Armsmaster filled in. “Just like with Clockblockers arm.”

  
“I would very much like to be filled in with them at this juncture, given that no order was sent for the Wards to be here,” Piggot said. Gallant, to his credit, still didn’t flinch, instead choosing to keep his gaze at the other side of the tent.   
“But the…” the Director sighed. “Ice-tree, takes priority. Panacea, you said that to be affected it requires direct contact?”

  
“Yes,” Amy replied. “Most of those that were the least affected had the least contact, at least from what we’ve been able to piece together. It’s kinda hard getting most of them to remember how long they touched the tree considering the circumstances, let alone talk.”

  
“The few cases we had to hit with containment foam were the ones that were messing with the stuff when we got here,” the PRT officer added in. “To say they were acting erratically would be an understatement.”

  
At this Piggot nodded. “So contact can cause madness?” At this Amy and the officer answered with affirmatives. “Sounds like an old horror novel I remember reading somewhere,” Piggot remarked under her breath. 

  
“And I’m assuming that we haven’t found the source or parahuman responsible for this event?” This time no one spoke up. “Then it is likely they are still inside the building, and the best people for getting inside are Armsmaster and Gallant, correct?”

  
“None of the PRT troops that interacted with the tree are affected so yes, it stands to reason that their armor could provide the best protection,” said Amy. “But that could just mean that it takes time to soak through objects. My powers don’t work on clothes after all; I can't see if they have been affected as well.”

  
“My armor has been designed to provide some protection against radiation,” Armsmaster said. “But I will admit that I have not done proper field tests, nor have I tested it beyond a degree of the ionizing spectrum. I may not be able to fight Behemoth in hand-to-hand, but I could assist in a minor radiation clean up task. None of my gear has detected anything outside of the ordinary however, so I don’t know how effective it will be.”

  
“You should be fine if you’re quick,” said Amy. “The rate of exposure is at minimum several minutes from what little we’ve gathered, just do your best to limit any contact to the tree, but that still assume that it is some kind of radiation. As a recognized healer by the PRT, I cannot recommend entering that building until further study on its effects, and I still have no idea on how it can affect your mind.”

  
“The choice however, ultimately, comes down to me,” Armsmaster pointed out. “As both one of the few capable of entering with limited consequences, as well as one with the proper training and experience, it becomes the only option. There is still a chance that the cape responsible may be planning something else, if it is a new Trigger, they may decide to lash out, causing more harm, as so we may not have the time for other options.”

  
“I can provide assistance with monitoring his vitals,” said Dragon. “As well as use his armor to map the area, get more readings to try and figure out a detector.”

  
At this Amy sighed. “Just know that if you get afflicted that I might not be able to do anything to help you.”

  
“Thank you for your concern,” said Armsmaster. “I’ll do my best to limit contact and proceed swiftly as I can while keeping my personal safety in mind.”

  
Piggot nodded. “Fine, since you’ve made good points and a decision, Armsmaster, head inside and locate the source of this event; while you should help any stuck students in the building if you come across them, they are not a priority, stopping this from spreading any further or locating the cape responsible is.”

  
“I can ask for volunteers to search the building after Armsmaster has gone in,” the PRT officer said. “And Kid Win is apparently working on a way to get students out from the upper floors.”

  
Miss Militia shook her head. “I told him not to do that,” she glanced over at the Director. “Ma’am, if we could get a fire truck here, the ladders could be safely used to free the trapped students, rather than some Tinker creation.”

  
“I’ll get in touch with the Chief,” said Piggot. “Get him to let the trucks back in. Has anyone heard from Shadow Stalker yet? Do we know if she’s still inside?”

  
“She… hasn’t made contact with us yet,” said Gallant, shifting his gaze back to the computer screen. “It’s possible.”

  
“It’s more likely that she is laying low,” Armsmaster pointed out. “Her beacon says she’s outside the school grounds, but with the amount of attention we are getting she could be finding it hard to get to us.”

  
Piggot huffed. “Find her, she might be able to shed some light here. Now if there is nothing else that needs to be discussed at this time, then you should get to all work.” She glared at Gallant for a moment. “And I expect a full report to be done by the time this is all over.”


	3. 1.3 Pain Threshold

Winslow High was substandard fare in terms of a high school. It lacked a proper gym (being only one building), the grounds themselves were only mostly kept, with cracks and weeds sprouting up fairly commonly. The lower windows were barred, the paint was peeling in places, and it was clear that the building hadn’t seen some good maintenance in years. If anything, the ice tree had improved things, giving a sense of grandeur to the rundown space.

On the other hand, Armsmaster reflected as he was led around the side of the building, it made entering the school a pain with all the tree limbs bursting through the windows and doors.

“The front entrance is blocked off, but this emergency exit here is still open.” The PRT officer waved his hand towards the door. “Well, mostly.”

The emergency classroom exit in question was half-ruined by an icy tree branch spiraling out from its frame on the right side; while the entryway was still accessible, it would be a tight fit.

Armsmaster nodded. “Thank you.”

“Good luck.” And with that, the officer walked away, leaving Armsmaster behind.

Above, shadows cast from the tree played across the ground. Behind him, the PRT was in full swing evacuating the area following an order from Director Piggot. She had apparently taken what Panacea said to heart about the effect of the tree and had ordered a quarantine for the entire block.

All of this meant that Armsmaster was able to squeeze through the gap between the frame and the limb without anyone noticing him sucking in his gut. It wasn’t that Colin was _unfit_ , but there was only a certain range one could get in body mass vs muscle mass and maintain peak fighting efficiency. Having semi-rigid power armor didn’t help, nor did the fact the ‘gap’ required a bit of contortionism to get through, given that the branch was _just wide enough_ to where Armsmaster had to scrape paint off of his suit and on to doorframe in order to get through.

The inside of the school wasn’t much better than the outside. The floor of the classroom was littered with books, backpack, papers, bits of drywall and ceiling panels; most of the desks had been shoved out of the way, forming a path to the exit. A few lights flickered, drawing the eye towards the ice branches that twisted along the walls.

Armsmaster noted backpacks and purses scattered on the floor, likely dropped in the rush to escape. The branch that blocked the entranceway behind him followed a trail that took it from the wall, up the ceiling, across, then connected to another branch on the left side, that one having burst through the wall there.

There was a tone over Armsmasters helmet, one that alerted him of someone contacting him. In particular, it was one he had set to signify that it was Dragon contacting him.

A practiced set of eye movements connected the call.

“Dragon. Thank you for your assistance.”

 _“It’s no problem, Armsmaster,”_ said Dragon. _“So, I’ve connected to your suit and am monitoring your vitals; I’ve also pulled the blueprint for the school from the city's servers. Give me a minute and I’ll run some predictions for where you should be able to find the source of all this.”_

“And hopefully the parahuman responsible.” Armsmaster paused as he walked carefully through the classroom. His own sensor suite said that everything was stable, but given the state of the building, it was highly unlikely that it would stay that way.

 _“Correct; I’m even using to use one of your algorithms that you lent me_ _for the internal pathing, the one that you designed for disaster recovery operations following Leviathans attack on Istanbul.”_

Armsmaster remembered that attack. February 2010. He had been ultimately unable to join in the fighting, even with the early warning they had due to the Endbringers travel time through the Mediterranean Sea, but he was able to work with Dragon in both coordinating the assault, as well as contribute some ideas for the cleanup.

While Istanbul hadn’t had complete, up-to-date information on their city, what they did have was enough to be combined with Dragons own scans to be used in Armsmasters algorithm; in the end, dozens of hundreds of lives were still saved by the program after it ran through the data, working out the places where people might have survived, places of safety, how to gain access to places without wreckage coming down on the workers.

Armsmaster had given it to Dragon for improvement following the attack, as she was far more likely to use it than he due to her wider area of influence. 

As the hero moved further into the school, he noticed that part of the floor and wall nearby was wet from a busted pipe, but the spot it was broken from was overshadowed by an ice branch. He considered the area while Dragon spoke; perhaps the cape's power required a source to manifest?

_“I’ve already begun putting together the data in order to predict where the branches, would most likely be on the inside based on their presence on the outside; I should be able to help you find the quickest path to the source with it, at least with your suit feeding it more data.”_

“Excellent, it will give me a chance to review and optimize it later. What do you make of this, cause or effect?” Armsmaster asked, indicating the wall.

_“According to the blueprints, a major water pipe does run through that area, and the tree is made of ice. However, from the dimensions that I’ve been able to get from the tree and the city's water records, there is far too much ice to water for it to be a straight conversion.”_

“Perhaps the variation could be accounted for if the cape's power allows for the manifestation of water … a hydrokinesis based power, like Leviathan perhaps?” suggested Armsmaster. “Just much faster, given that it apparently formed in a matter of minutes.”

_"That might also explain its structure as well, growth like that could have arranged itself into crystals for support, but it doesn't account for how it’s been formed; the ice is too smooth, like it was cut into shape, it’s all angles from what I’ve gathered from the photos sent to me.”_

Armsmaster carefully ran a gauntleted hand over the ice, mindful of the contact per Panacea’s instructions. His hand found no imperfections (just as Dragon had said) and the angles looked to be laser cut with how perfect they were. Even his suit sensors reported nothing in terms of imperfections. “Remarkable, is it a natural effect of the power, or is it the effect of the human powering it to enable streamlining? I wonder if this power can be used with other materials?”

_“We won't know the whole story about this power until we find the cape responsible."_

With a flick of his eyes, Armsmaster pulled up the blueprints for the building on his HUD and added a few adjustments to the algorithm based on what he’d already had seen; several more adjustments popped into view as Dragon added her own observations and the hero frowned at the resulting data.

Based on the pathing program, it was going to be difficult to reach the upper levels, where the source or center was, and the parahuman responsible. “Agreed, anything new to report on that front?”

_“Well, Piggot practically gave me a blank slate for helping the PRT out in solving this, including, if you ask to make it so, hacking into the schools' systems to gather the students' records as well as server data on all PCs to identify any potential Pre-Trigger warning events, then into any phones that were used just before and after the event was first recorded, all following standard PRT investigative protocols. With that I can get a timeline going with the data and maybe even track down the Parahuman responsible. All you have to do give the requests for the record, because you know, technically I’m hacking into a government facility and violating several laws.”_

Armsmaster had to grin; sometimes his Canadian friend was eccentric when it involved laws and following them, for several justifiable reasons. It was something that he could understand perfectly, even if it sometimes got in the way of getting things done.

“Very well, I grant permission from the Protectorate.”

_“Right! I’ll let you know what I find.”_

Winslow High’s main halls were set in a cross pattern with double crossings. After the main entrance lay a ‘lobby’ of sorts, mostly used as a seating area for the administration rooms to either side, from the lobby the main hallway extended being bisected twice by halls at right angles then again after several classrooms, allowing the school to fit even more rooms along the outer walls. At the end of the secondary halls were the stairwells, with another set at the back of the school. It was clear that the building wasn’t built for style, just maximizing how many classes they could fit into it.

Armsmaster was lucky in that the classroom he exited out of was not only just next to a stairwell, but he also seemed to be on the one side of the school that had less of the branches flowing through it, so he was able to quickly ascend to the next level. Once there however the real issues began.

All of the schools' floors followed the same floor plan, so this meant that it was easy to get from one class to the next just by taking a few turns or/and going up/down a level, however, things became difficult when the halls got blocked by ice branches.

Twisting brambles of ice lay in front of the hero, and while he could see a way through it, forging a path would be difficult due to both the fact it would require some squeezing through the gaps, as well as the fact he wanted to limit his exposure as much as he could; speed was key, recklessness was not.

Luckily there were other stairwells, but the pattern repeated behind Armsmaster, blocking him into the one stairwell. Still, there were other ways forward, and Armsmaster had just the tool for getting it done.

While the bramble of branches blocked the hall, it didn’t block the door into the classroom next to it. Inside, it was similar to the downstairs classroom; desks scattered, bags left behind, the only difference was the location.

Armsmaster reached behind himself and disengaged the magnetic locks holding his Halberd in place, and with a fancy flick of his arm and hand that was absolutely necessary, he embedded the weapon into the wall. There was a dull crack as it slammed into its target, and the hero could feel from the feedback and the notice on his HUD that he’d hit some kind of local support. He finished his cut anyway, then did three more just as quickly.

A single good kick was enough to knock free the section he’d cut loose and Armsmaster walked calmly through the room and out the door of the classrom, bypassing the blockage to continue forward…

_“Ok, I’ll have to run better calculations on the school if you don’t just want to cut your way through everything.”_

… and straight into another one blocking the stairwell, as well as the other halls.

Armsmaster pulled an one-eighty and walked back down the hall and into the last classroom.

“Based on where this grouping of branches are, and given that it seems the branches seemed to follow the main halls, the area above should have the best chance to be free of obstructions, correct?” he asked the Canadian cape.

 _“Yes…”_ Dragon began. _“The algorithm does support this… But the floors are thicker than the **walls,** Armsmaster.”_

“But not unmanageably so,” Armsmaster replied.

He was more careful with his cuts and stood well clear when he made the final ones, which was well rewarded when several desks came down along for the ride. A quick check of his sensors, and Armsmaster shrunk down his Halberd, then jumped up with it held overhead. When it reached above the floor on the next level, Armsmaster reextended it, forming a solid pull-up point that he used to launch up himself into the room in a way that would have made any gymnast proud.

A necessary act, considering that it was unlikely that the school's interior supports for the classrooms could have held up to his grappling hook, let alone his added weight.

Unlike the ones below, this classroom was much further damaged as a branch seemed to have torn its way through the ceiling and into a wall, but the door was unblocked and Armsmaster was quick to travel through it. On the other side, however, he was forced to step on and over several smaller branches that intersected at waist height.

“How sure are you that Artic is gone?” Armsmaster asked after having to double back from an another blocked off hallway.

 _“Well, considering that he hasn’t been seen for years, and he was last spotted fighting the Ascetics in South America, and we do know what they do to those that defy them, pretty sure,”_ Dragon replied. _“Why?”_

“Just a thought: Artic was a Tinker, one of the best, even considering his life choices.”

_“Colin… he was considered an international eco-terrorist.”_

Artic was a… complicated case for the world. No one knew who he was, just that he was a Tinker who specialized in what many thought to be sophisticated freezing weapons, while making his own gear resistant against extreme cold.

In truth, it was more accurate to say that Artic was a Tinker specializing in _temperatures,_ particularly on the cold side of things _._ The man was capable of making gear that could walk through a localized blizzard (said blizzard being formed from tech) and out into sunny Texas, without the user feeling any difference. But while Artics’ gear may have had more of Ice Age tilt to them, the man still knew enough about thermodynamics to manage temperatures; so he even had the gear to help -slowly- thaw things out.

Armsmaster himself had integrated some of that same gear into his own suit, which maintained optimal temps in -nearly- all conditions. It even stopped him from sweating for nearly fifteen seconds when fighting an enraged Lung (the system did take a dump after thirty however, but that was his own fault for reducing overall effectiveness in exchange for optimizing space-to-weight and equipment size to armor ratios).

Artic used many devices over the years, stopping oil rigs by freezing the drills solid, crippling whale hunting by encasing ships in ice, even fighting off forest logging by freezing equipment, all in the name of protecting what he declared was the most valuable thing Humans could have: Earth itself.

The biggest issue that governments had in trying to take him down, however, was the fact that Artic not only was fighting for the environment, but also working to protect it with the help of the public. He ran fundraisers, did public works, appealed to governments with plans and technology to cut back on the very things he was fighting, and did everything in his power to get the word out for what he stood for.

Over the years, however, Artic grew more violent in his attacks, and in time began to target more than just those ‘attacking the planet for their own gain.’ What started as him crippling a Human trafficking ring, ended with him trying to take on the entirety of all drug cartels in the western hemisphere to try and eliminate drug production at its source.

“… Yes, I am aware. He was a brilliant Tinker, however, and had several recorded cases of reverse-engineering other Tinkers work for both his own use as well as for the public. And I respected what he was trying to accomplish… at first.” Armsmaster said. “Part of me believes it was a lack of support from those he wished would listen to him that drove him to such extremes. If he just had joined the PRT instead, it would have been very likely his name would have been spoken in the same sentences as the Triumvirate.”

_“Well, he did freeze an entire oil spill without affecting the surrounding waters, so I understand where you’re coming from; also, here’s the best spot for cutting through that wall, it would be best for you to go up through this classroom, the one on the other side is below a chemistry class.”_

Armsmaster sighed and turned away from the blocked stairwell, his last bet for getting upstairs the easy way, his Halberd out to make a new route in the labyrinth that once was a school. 

So much for his algorithm.

* * *

After once again forging a new upwards path into a classroom, Armsmaster stepped up to traverse over a grouping of tree limbs, these ones twisting in from the ceiling and bouncing from one side of that particular hall to the other, even going through the floor in places. Luckily the structure still seemed stable, even three stories up. Armsmaster was able to climb over the desk-sized limb with ease and continued to follow along its current path down the left side of the hall, towards his destination.

It was here, out of the corner of his eye, that Colin spotted his reflection, lounging on the very same limb that he was stepping over, sprawled on his side.

A reflection that wasn’t wearing a helmet.

Golden glowing eyes regarding the hero as he turned his head to look, and with a smile that was just a little too wide to greet him, spoke. 

“Hey!”

The slam of flesh on metal caused Colin to whip around to see a bald teenager with his hand pressed against the glass of a classroom door blocked by a branch.

“It’s fucking Armsmaster! You got us outta here man!” Behind the teen, several other students shoved their way forward, all shouting for the hero for help them out.

Colin ignored the teens for a moment as he spun around to see his apparition.

There was nothing on the limb, just some debris from the wall it had carved into.

Armsmaster opened up his recording software, eye and hand moments quick as lightning from experience, he only needed to rewind a few seconds…

The hallway, the camera moving as Armsmaster stepped up, here, the turning of his head…

Nothing.

Not a _thing_ showed on his recording, not even something that he could constitute as being reflective enough to explain what had just happened.

 _“Colin, are you ok?”_ asked Dragon. _“Your vitals just spiked.”_

“… It was nothing,” Armsmaster replied, turning back to the door. “A trick of the light. I did find some of the missing students however.”

With his Halberd unable to cut through the ‘ice,’ Armsmaster was forced yet again to cut a section of the wall out to get into the classroom, as most of the door was blocked off. After telling the teens to keep their distance, and after pausing to check that he wasn’t going to hit a pipe or electrical cable and cause possible harm to those inside, a few swift slashes and Armsmaster was climbing into the class, guard up and ready.

Armsmaster counted thirty-five students and one teacher, all mostly from a variety of backgrounds, though it seemed that this class mostly leaned towards the white skinhead group, like the one that had gotten the heroes attention, but there were still a few other ethnicities in the room.

Speaking of which, it was mostly intact. It seemed that being one of the interior classrooms meant that with the door blocked, there was no other way out. Unless one counted the hole in the floor from where a tree limb had punched through from the ceiling, which, judging from the lack of desks around it and what seemed to be a few improvised tools, some attempts had been made on getting through the floor alongside it.

Despite the rather obvious tattoos that several of the students sported, as well as what his sensors pegged as hidden weapons, Armsmaster put on his best professional hero face.

“Is anyone hurt or experiencing any ill effects from their time here?”

Let it be said that Armsmaster wasn’t known for his public speaking.

Several of the students mumbled and looked to each other as the female teacher stepped forward. “Other than being stuck in here with the glowing piece of ice and each other no, I think we’re fine. We all just want to get out of here.”

Armsmaster nodded then consulted both his map and Dragon. “The path back is too risky, but we are working on getting ladders for evacuation through the windows. I’ll cut another way through the other side of the room. You should be able to get to one of the windows and signal outside from there.”

“You’re not coming with us?” asked the teacher as the hero walked across the room.

“No, I need to find the source of this event. We can’t have this escalate,” said Armsmaster.

Once more, Armsmaster's Halberd was used in making holes, this one slightly wider to make it easier on the civilians. A quick glance through showed a hallway no different than the last, but there were a few doors free of blockages, and it was largely accessible by foot.

“I’ve notified the PRT about you all, they are working on getting up here as we speak,” Armsmaster said. “As you all more likely know the area better than I, finding a window should be easy. Try to limit contact to the limbs and branches as best as you can, their effects haven’t been fully documented yet.”

This of course, prompted more muttering. “What kinds of effects?” one asked.

“Nothing more than you’ve already experienced,” Armsmaster replied. “Many have already recovered from it, but that is no reason to take unnecessary risks.”

His words, while blunt, were enough for the class to get moving. The teacher lead, whether due to her position or if she abused her power of authority was up to debate.

One by one the room emptied until it was just Armsmaster and the skinhead teen that had pounded on the door.

“You saw him too, didn’t you man?” the skinhead asked. “The Double?”

Armsmaster stared for a moment, eyeing the tattoos that marked him as a member of E88; or at least a supporter. “I don’t quite follow.”

The teen _tsked_. “You know, the _ghost_ , the guy that looks like you, only with a crazy grin and those fucked up eyes.” The student shuddered. “Fucker just showed up in the back of the room to mess with us, and not all at once either, only some of us saw him, others, well, they said they didn’t, but they still be acting strange, you know?”

“Of course,” Armsmaster replied.

He didn’t really; considering the circumstances, why wouldn’t they be acting strangely?

“The ghosts were even worse though, the ones that looked like those old cartoons where a dudes shadow stood up and started walking you know? Only with paper faces; some of them looked angry, but most looked scared. Did you run cross any of them?” the skinhead asked.

“No.”

The kid huffed. “Good. Double boy was creepy, but at least there was only one of ‘um.”

With that statement the kid left through the gap, following the other students; as for Armsmaster himself, he waited for moment, relaxing his guard slightly now that he was alone, before contacting Dragon. It never would cease to amaze him how people could act in some situations, and he refused to get blindsided in a situation like that.

“Did you get all of that?” he asked Dragon once he was sure the class had left the area.

_“Yes, I’ve forwarded it to Piggot and the others. Some of what he said matches what has been already recorded, but these ‘ghost people’ are new.”_

“Could be the opposite,” replies Armsmaster as he turned back to leave the way he came in. “Where I am is relativity close to the epicenter, it is possible that these ‘shadows’ and the Double are the same thing, only more refined.”

 _“It is possible, both for if this Trigger is acting on its own, or more disturbing, that the cape involved is refining their power,”_ states Dragon. _“… Colin… your vitals’ spike from before…”_

“Notify the Director that I will be voluntarily going into M/S Screening,” Armsmaster interrupted. “But for now, I’m getting close. I can’t turn back here, plus I know now what to keep an eye out for.”

_“Well, your vitals have mostly stabilized, but the sensors built into your suit don’t give the same fidelity as Panacea can provide, not that I can see what she sees, but… please be careful Colin.”_

“It is unlikely that my power will be affected by this phenomenon,” replies Armsmaster. “…but given the situation, I believe that I can bypass a floor by cutting up into it rather than using the stairs, and doing the same to walls if my way becomes blocked, getting me closer to my destination at a faster pace.”

 _“I’ll send a few suggestions to your HUD on the most likely places that aren’t blocked,”_ said Dragon happily.

Unfortunately, some areas of the school at this point had clusters of branches blocking off parts of it or had been damaged to the point of instability because of them, meaning that Armsmaster was forced multiple times to cut through walls just to get a few dozen feet. Luckily, the extra time allowed Dragon to trawl the networks in an attempt to figure out who had Triggered.

 _“… The problem is that the school doesn’t exactly keep the best records,”_ Dragon pointed out. _“Or at least ones that are accessible online. I’ve managed to eliminate most of the students outside just on the basis of them_ being _on the outside, or that they were among the first ones out. At this point, I’ve begun to cross-reference any police records with the students as well as what few grades that I can get to. Combining that with the records from the PRT are gathering outside, I’ve got a few ideas lined up on who this new Parahuman is.”_

Armsmaster pushed the latest in what was many new doorways in the school out of the way; the next hall seemed traversable, though there were several branches twisting their way through it. “Good, if we can identify the cause for the Trigger, then we can avoid any relapses and provide support and psychotherapy if necessary. I still may require some assistance in dealing with them; I am aware that I lack some degree of social skills and would rather not travel all this way just to stick my foot into my mouth and get put through a wall by an ice growth.”

_“Colin, that’s surprising for you to say! I believe that we’re making progress with your social awareness.”_

Armsmaster grunted as he carefully climbed over a bundle of branches, made more hazardous by water and debris formed by a damaged wall. “More accurately, I have spent considerable time attempting to reach this location, have had to cut through walls, doors, and even a ceiling to make progress, as well as pass through several questionable gaps. During this time it had occurred to me that it would be rather disappointing to get to my destination only to fail and cause an incident because I missed a social cue.”

_“Ah, well it’s a…”_

Colin paused as Dragon trailed off, half squeezed through a space between a rack of destroyed lockers and a very thick branch, the floor littered with school supplies scattered from said lockers. “Dragon?”

 _“… Colin,_ _someone recorded it._ ”

The Canadian Tinkers voice sounded both breathless and horrified to Armsmasters’ ears, which fit considering the context.

His armor scraped against the lockers as Armsmaster forced his way through the available gap; Trigger events themselves weren’t strictly ‘public knowledge,’ but experts understood many of the nuances of them and some of that data _was_ public. There were no hard and fast rules for what powers a new Parahuman would get post-Trigger, but there were some rather obvious data supporting what _caused_ the events for the Trigger could and would influence not only how the new cape would use them, but the basis of them as well; they, unfortunately, generally followed the same patterns as normal humans.

That was to say, if you push someone hard enough, eventually, they can push back, be it mentally or physically.

That was not always the case given that humans were… _human_ and prone to both fits of fancy and foolishness (and a refusal to follow what should be common sense in Armsmaster's opinion). However, given Dragon’s reaction then the events leading up to the Trigger must have been truly horrific, so for Armsmaster, it was _very_ important for him to get to the new Cape to offer the best assistance and assurance that he could.

Or, in the worst case, provide containment at all costs to curtail more destruction.

Given both the location, Dragon’s reaction, and the typical requirements for a Trigger, Colin was reliably able to determine what the chances of this parahuman sliding into the villains' category if not given the proper support. With how the world worked, being different and strange earned a stigma, having this while being a cape as well as the views of what happened during their Trigger would just compound further on that.

However, having a well-known Protectorate member offer assurance, as well his personal assistance and guidance in the matter, would likely do wonders in providing the support necessary in keeping them on the right side of the law.

“Dragon, do you have any more data on the Parahuman?”

“ _Oh god._ ”

_Giggle_

Armsmasters head snapped toward the sound, his Halberd swinging around at the ready. Just beyond him, a mass of limbs and burst from the ceiling in interlocking patterns, roughly forming a ramp up to the next level.

And as luck would have it, also roughly heading towards the direction where he needed to go.

Carefully, Armsmaster navigated the slope, watching his step due to both the water running down it from bust pipes, and wreckage from the building getting perforated. The next level was a far greater mess than the last. Limbs snaked through walls, floor, and even jutting in and out of the ceiling, many of which followed the pattern of tracing the waterlines, so there wasn’t really even much of a hallway left.

Here the glow from the limbs was more noticeable, casting strange shadows, mixing in with the few remaining light fixtures that struggled on. One might expect that upon reaching this point that the limbs from the tree would make the area impassable, but instead, the limbs were mostly confined to the walls, like icy vines, causing the lockers lining the walls to be ripped apart, scattering their contents across the floor.

And just further beyond it all was Armsmaster’s objective.

Books, papers, other miscellaneous school supplies and an uneven floor from the limbs cracking through them made for somewhat unsteady walking, but experience and his armor allowed the hero to proceed forward with relative ease.

To Armsmaster, the Origin very much resembled a nucleus rather than some roots, where all the branching limbs had spread out from, going through anything in their way at first, until they began traveling the path of least resistance, through halls, windows, vents, and doors. The center however, had rings of branches wrapping around it in spaced layers, similar looking to a tumbleweed, like whatever had formed it wanted to be shielded from the outside.

It wasn’t very effective, there were gaps that Armsmaster could slip through, heading into a car-sized space mostly untouched from the chaos beyond. On one side the lockers had been blown away by the limbs, ripped apart by the rapid growth of tree limbs. It was clear this was where the point-of-origin was for the event; a thick mass of ice from where all the limbs had originated on one side of the shielded sections, embedded in the wall.

But it was the sole body lying face down on the floor in the middle of it all that took Armsmasters’ attention.

The body was stick-thin and half-hidden among fallen ceiling panels, long curly black hair was spread out over the tile, twisted remnants of a backpack still clung to them, and they didn’t seem to be moving. Armsmaster took a few more steps forwards, carefully navigating through the last of the tangle of protective branches to enter the van-sized clearing in the center, and nearly smacked his head on one limb because of a smell that rushed out to meet him.

It was an ungodly smell, wafting on the still air. Had the wrong pipe been burst somewhere nearby? Armsmaster shook it away when his suit declared no toxic chemicals in the air; a bad smell wasn’t going to stop him, even if it was rank and one of the worst he’d ever experienced.

“This is Armsmaster of the Protectorate, if you are awake please respond.”

There was no movement, no signs of life, and despite all the upgrades and improvements that he could make to his armor, Armsmaster never really could make that ‘life signs’ detector as Dragon had once called it. So without physically checking the body, he had no idea what to expect; were they simply unconscious? Dead from their own power? It had happened before, parahumans tended to be immune to their own powers, but the effects they had on the environment were another story.

Or were they biding their time for another attack? Seeking revenge for the same reason that this had happened?

Again, Armsmaster was reminded of how foolish humans could act sometimes, even in clear defiance of their own health or self-being. The hero had personally had to deal with the aftermath of a villain, who in the process of trying to flee, thought it would be a good idea to use explosives inside a chemical workshop. It took _days_ for his hearing to return, and Colin’s right ear was still supplemented by an implant, backed up by his helmet until Panacea came along. It also had imparted a lesson: never be unprepared for _anything_.

As such, Armsmaster was extremely careful when reaching out towards the body and kept his shortened Halberd at the ready. It was at this range that he noticed the body had brownish-red spots covering it, mixed in with the hair, the clothes. A byproduct of an attack? Trigger events never happen in a vacuum and with this being a school…

No less then a dozen alerts popped up on Armsmasters HUD when he touched the bodies shoulder as the many sensors embedded in his armors hand lit up. <Low body temp> and <Extremely low heart rate> were just two; because while he couldn’t make a remote scanner, being able to touch a perp and ascertain their basic state of health was very effective in determining how injured they were, or if they were faking or lying to his face.

<Biohazard> was the one that caught his eye however.

It was to his shame that Armsmaster reflexively jerked his hand back, then the rest of the data filled in.

As per regulations, all members of both the Protectorate and the PRT were required to have passed both first aid training and basic disaster training, for onsite medical assistance and for Endbringer recovery ops. Colin had gone above and beyond, continuing the courses and even taking several other classes on crime scene investigations, to better get a feel of events he was privy to. Being able to piece things together post-cape incident had helped him greatly over the years.

This meant that even while he was flipping the victim over, following every rule and instruction that his instructors had taught him, he was taking in the bruises on her elbows, the bloodied fingers, missing nails, torn pants at knees, the broken glasses, while he did a complete physical check the best he could do. Her breathing was slow, as was her heart rate, but they were steady, no visible impacts were on her head, so she likely lost consciousness post-Trigger, not uncommon.

He also took in the trail of fluids leading to a destroyed locker, with dents, scratch marks, and fresh blood on the door just feet away, markings that he had no doubt upon seeing, would be claw marks from someone trying desperately to free themselves, and would end matching this young woman own damaged fingers.

“Dragon,” Armsmaster barked. “Get some paramedics ready downstairs, I’m heading back.”

 _“Colin! What happened!? You just went off-grid!”_ replied Dragon just as swift.

“I’ve found our cape, she needs medical attention immediately,” Armsmaster swiftly said into his radio, then paused. “What do you mean I went _off-grid?_ ”

 _“I lost all contact with you, no radio, no beacon, nothing for over_ five minutes! _I thought something happened to you and nearly ordered Gallant in through a window after you!”_

Armsmaster had no idea what Dragon was talking about, he had been traveling through the building, talking to her the entire time, she had mentioned finding more info on the parahuman…

It was a strange experience, seeing things in retrospect, or remembering in this case. Colin could remember entering the building, finding the blocked stairwell, rerouting, twice, traveling down several halls, even meeting and rescuing the students, all while talking to Dragon, but the moments after he had heard a giggle in the distance… did Dragon speak to him? She must have, she was talking about the parahuman, she had found a video, why would he have ignored her?

Why didn’t he notice that his HUD had been turned off? Or that Dragon had stopped speaking?

“I… you nearly _ordered Gallant_ through a _window?_ ” he asked, shocked as his mind locked on to that detail rather than his own confusion and unsettlement.

 _“Well,_ ” Dragon began. _“I thought… you said you found our new cape? That should be our priority now.”_

Even to Armsmaster, that change of subject was sudden and obvious, and he made a mental note to bring it back up to Dragon later. But there _was_ a more pressing concern, two if he counted his own mental state.

“Yes, sending the images now.” Teaming up with another cape capable of keeping up with data exchanges was always a good thing.

Particularly when things needed to get done _quickly._

 _“According to the school files… her name is Taylor Hebert, she’s the same girl from the video, the one they shut in a locker,”_ said Dragon.

“Filled with Human waste,” Armsmaster spat. “She’s covered with days-old blood and has several open wounds from her attempts to get out of there. I’m getting really to be moved now. Send me that video.”

Taylor wasn’t heavy so Armsmaster had no problem carrying her, the issue would be first getting her through the shielding limbs, then carrying her back through the halls and down to the medics, but if he used the same path as the students from before, then he could get her out a window instead.

Dragon meanwhile was pulling data from his suit. _“There are hormones commonly found during menstrual cycles in the blood, judging from the video… they had let it sit in the locker beforehand, no one was going anywhere near it, it likely smelled bad from her reaction before…”_

“I know,” Armsmaster replied, carefully carrying Taylor through the tangle of limbs. “Send me the video.”

_“Colin…”_

“Dragon, there is a chance that this girl is dying from an infection right now, and if it wasn’t for the fact that Panacea was right outside, I would be asking for a medivac to meet me upstairs. No matter how you look at it, the fact is that someone nearly killed this girl and caused her to Trigger; I want to know who. _Send me the footage._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: on the Locker Incident, several other fics have pointed out what I just did, what happened to Taylor could easily be perceived as a bio-attack or straight up attempted murder; hell, back in medieval times, it was a tactic to throw corpses of animals over walls to inflict disease. So the fact that anyone got away with this is, well, I could rant, but most of you should be able to see where I’m going with this.  
> And yes, you could argue that the school covered it up, the Shadow Stalkers handler helped hide it, or even that no one stepped forward to talk about it, but the fact remains that what happened in canon should not have happened just by the paramedics and cops looking into things.  
> But hey, as a someone once said, ‘if the protagonist called the cops and they did their jobs perfectly, then the movie would be boring,’, so I understand why Wildbow did what he did.  
> Also, I can’t seem to find when Taylor describes Winslow outside the tiny details, so I made it up from what little I could remember and added to it, but it’s mostly filler so…
> 
> And I still feel like I’m bad at making the little details, putting the flow in between the major points, but hey, if I’m writing this it’s unlikely that I’ll get worse at it, right?


	4. 1.4 Pain Threshold

Director Piggot sighed as she leaned back in her chair, happily taking the weight off her legs. The heavyset woman in charge of the PRT ENE knew that she only had a few moments before her scheduled call with Chief Director Rebecca Costa-Brown to relax, and after that, she needed to get to medical for her much-needed hemodialysis.

The last twenty-four hours had been very stressful for everyone at the PRT ENE, with many of its workers having to pull double shifts at the minimum, and Piggot had been non-stop herself since the beginning.

While the entire day hadn't been a _complete_ disaster, it had come close at several points. There had been a _massive_ failure in communications with both the PRT and the local authorities in dealing with the Winslow Event. A simple mistake, compounded by assumptions on both sides, ended with both the PRT and the local police force looking _incompetent_.

The issue began with the fact that the PRT troopers weren’t _fully_ trained for working with civilians, their only job was to deal with Parahumans and to support the Protectorate capes.

PRT troopers were more similar to SWAT then standard police officers; while their training covered the basics on working with civilians, how to speak to them, how to clear them from a danger zone, how to provide first aid, and how to contain them in the case of witnesses (largely due to M/S protocols), they didn’t have the extended training that the police supplied to their people.

Some had linked the PRTs training to how soldiers acted when they were deployed in foreign countries, with most of the ‘training’ relying on common sense and previous training of the troopers (as most of them came either from military backgrounds, or similar lines of work).

Considering that the PRT was only really ever deployed to deal with capes and occasionally their gangs (or in rare cases, to help deal with riots and other large public incidents, like natural disasters), this meant that most dealings with the public fieldside were regulated to the local police forces after the incident had occurred and dealt with, with the PRT focusing on either moving them away, getting them into cover, or simply working quickly to resolve the situation above all else.

This wasn’t to say that the PRT didn’t assist matters involving the public, but if it could be pushed off to them to free up the troopers for other jobs, generally it happened.

Local police didn’t really care for this fact, largely because it meant that in most cases, they had to deal with the gangs and hanger-on’s of villain capes by themselves, unless there were clear examples of a cape power (or their tech) at work.

Part of this decision made sense, as if the PRT started dispatching to all the ‘mistaken’ calls about robberies, thefts, and public disturbances that people called in to _them_ alongside all the possible and real cape calls, then they would quickly get swamped.

Unfortunately, the PRT needed to keep its limited lines open, as not _every_ one of its calls had to do with someone thinking they doubled as the police. Sometimes someone actually _did_ call about a cape fight happening.

There were other factors involved in the friction as well, the PRT often would intervene in anything that was deemed Parahuman related, and then kick the local forces out to serve as containment (at best). Sometimes however, that didn’t turn out that will, with the PRT sometimes foaming a random bystander, only to then let them go later and have them complain to the cops and the government, causing a bolt of bad PR, for both sides.

But with Masters and Strangers roaming around, the PRT couldn’t afford to take chances, there were protocols in place when dealing with capes for a reason after all.

Another factor was how the PRT dealt with non-powered capes after the fact, in that they didn’t; generally, the PRT looked into them only to make sure that they weren’t capes, had Tinker Tech on them, or were Mastered. After that, they would get tossed into the arms of the local police to deal with.

In the end however, an uneasy balance had been formed, where the PRT dealt with capes, and the police stayed out of their way or called them in to deal with things. Because any and every cop could recognize that a 9mm and a stab vest would do jack shit against someone like Hookwolf.

Only in this situation, all these factors and past decisions had culminated into a perfect shitstorm.

Due to the size of the event, police and fire didn't bother to contact the PRT as they had assumed that they had already known about it, and the PRT didn't coordinate with the police because many of them assumed that they would stay out of their way and help in the background, as it was obviously parahuman related. Both of these reasonings were sound, as given the size of what happened at Winslow, it was rather obvious that it _was_ parahuman related.

However, without the local cops arriving first on scene to start clearing things up, the PRT forces ran into tons of frightened teenagers, as well as concerned parents and the common gawker all hovering on the outskirts of the area, preventing them from getting to Winslow and containing the situation.

The only reason that things ended as well as they did was because the two forces encountered each other on the way and managed to rectify the situation on scene as they followed on-site protocols; something that they should have been doing in the _first_ place.

Emily had had a long talk with the police chief over that issue, same went with the rest of the heads of the city’s emergency services.

There _were_ some that followed the right protocols from the beginning, a bit of a bright spot for the ranks of BBPD and the PRT, but they were too few among the many that reacted to the situation to really affect things before it all got out of hand.

Not that it all mattered to the eyes of the public. The PRT was currently getting the shaft because of the fact that they failed so hard in the initial reaction upon getting there, never mind that once the initial confusion was dealt with, the PRT and police contained the situation quickly and smoothly and got the injured the help they needed.

The simple fact was the citizens of Brockton Bay wanted answers to what happened at Winslow. Answers that Piggot didn’t have (or more accurately, they didn’t want to hear).

The only saving grace to the day was that it seemed none of the other local villains made any major moves; well, other than a scuffle between the ABB and the Merchants, but that was mostly contained to the Docks.

Now the PRT had to deal with the fallout of such a public Trigger. While the Public Relations teams of both Brockton Bay and the PRT in general had plenty of experience in dealing with such Triggers (it was a sad fact that there were plenty of public Triggers caused from day-to-day life), this one was proving to be… difficult.

Mostly because of the background that had been gathered after the fact.

But then add in the ice-tree that was still looming over the city with no signs of it moving anytime soon, meant that they had their work cut out for them.

Dragon was still doing research on said tree. She had told Piggot that it would be a few hours until she was ready to present her full findings, but both Emily and the Chief Director had been sent the preliminary report.

Luckily, the internal PRT issues were slightly easier to deal with; the investigation into who dropped the ball on proper commutations was proceeding, both in the PRT and Brockton Bays own Emergency Services. By the looks of things, several people were going to lose their jobs.

The fact that Miss Militia of _all_ people had to contact Armsmaster to let him know what was happening was a failure of massive proportions, and while the Director could see from the report on how it got to that point, the fact that it _did_ happen was inexcusable. Far too many people failed to contact their supervisors and/or console during the initial rush, so while the reaction time to the Event was (relatively) top-notch due to its size, the lack of coordination between everyone bit them all in the ass.

Things were slightly better involving the Wards that showed up. While they took matters into their own hands (which would be investigated and then they would be disciplined later, Piggot was going to make sure of that), them showing up was a small boon to PR and very helpful in getting many of the kids to calm down, other than the issues with Glory Girl's power acting up and causing a minor panic.

While Clockblocker was getting forced time-off due to effectivity losing an arm (Panacea regrew it later), his preliminary psych report was showing that he was taking it rather well considering. The fact that Panacea had forced his heart to calm and had in effect given him a small chemical high had likely helped separate him from what had happened as well.

Shadow Stalker was gone, sent straight to juvie with the barest of trials after she was caught by both Miss Militia and Dauntless trying to run. The fact she had broken her probation so hard, coupled with what happened because of her and her own actions before and after 'joining' the Wards meant that she didn't even get to take a stand for her defense; in the end, she just wasn't worth it, and was shipped off to juvie before the day was even done.

Something that Piggot was _very_ happy about. She was never a fan of Sophia, despite what questions and possibilities the Thinkers had about her power, the fact that it was paired with someone like Shadow Stalker severely hampered its usefulness.

In fact, Piggot had pushed for sending her to prison, to be tried as an adult given what she did, but she knew that it was going to fall through. Too volatile of a situation, too many questions to be asked that no one wanted answered.

A side effect of all this, however, meant that the PRT had actions to back up their words for possible reparations to Brockton Bay's newest Parahuman, given that Armsmaster didn't seem to be budging in his plan on telling her what _exactly_ had happened, but there were still plenty of other issues to deal with involving her.

Including the PR problem that was her father.

* * *

Danny Hebert. Deputy Director Renick knew that name, anyone that worked a form of HR in Brockton Bay knew him, or at least had heard of him.

The de facto head of the Dock Workers Association (though that was only because the actual head was much more of a politician and constantly away either lobbying with the city or even the state), Danny was the main reason the DWA was still afloat and still recognized as part of the city services.

Even though his actual job was 'just' the head of hiring and the main spokesperson for the Union, Renick knew from experience that the man was a shrewd negotiator, even managing to get a contract with the PRT in using the Union for helping with the reconstruction of the city after a few cape fights some years back; not to mention dealing with the aftereffects of Tāwhirimātea passing by the city.

He was also a man with connections, the center of a spiderweb of personnel built up over years of working with the city's blue-collared workers. With Brockton Bay being a former major trading port, most of those same workers had _some_ kind of links to the DWA. Add this to the sense of community to the group, formed by the shared experiences of struggling in the economy, the bonds formed by their hard grueling work, and Danny's own tenacity in working hard to provide them the jobs and benefits they need, the diminished DWA was just as tight-knit as any military group was.

In fact, the PRT had a lot to fear from Danny Hebert; some of the current PRT troopers that came from the DWA even had him look at their contracts to double-check them, and had even gotten others to do so as well. Renick even met the man once, a few minutes with him and Renick knew he was outmatched.

While Danny didn't know the ins and outs of all the legal systems that the Deputy Director knew for the PRT and all that it associated with, he knew enough of the local and regional laws that he was able to stonewall the PRTs attempt to undercut the DWA in their deal with the city and the PRT attempts to save on costs.

Plus, there was the absolute dedication the man had to his people; extending to the point that he was more than willing to fight tooth and nail to make sure they received what they were worth.

Renick had viewed the flak he had gotten from his failure to lessen both costs and having to deal with making sure the Union workers got their dues from the PRT as the lesser evil then what would have happened if he had pushed the _official_ PRT position.

Politicly, the DWA _didn’t_ have any power; unofficially however, the fact the group was still around was a major reason that a gang war hadn’t broken out over control of the Docks yet.

The DWA controlled the few remaining docks and piers that allowed something more than a small sailboat to moor in the Bay proper, which was the only thing stopping gangs from pulling in more drugs, supplies, personnel, and anything else in from the waters (with exception of the Merchants, as they would likely just end up ripping it all apart for cash).

While there were already protections and protocols in place to help prevent seaborne smuggling, there was only so much the coast guard, Watchdog, and Sentinel could do to stop people from getting on land from the ocean.

The Empire, in particular, would have an easy time falsifying records, greasing palms, and hiding everything from drugs, to guns, and even new capes among the few ships that still did come to the Bay.

But as long as the DWA kept control of the area (backed by limited BBPD and PRT assistance), then none of the gangs would get such a power shifting resource in their hands, both in terms of distribution and territory size. Which in turn meant that no gang wars would break out over trying to control it.

The entire gang situation in the Bay was a balancing act, one built up over _years_ of activity. With the sheer number of capes, their assortment of powers, and the limited assets available to the PRT, it had been ruled that, to avoid another Boston Games, the PRT would _avoid_ upsetting the status quo unless they were ready to deal with the aftermath of the gangs moving in for more power.

Luckily for the city, Danny Hebert wasn’t the type of man to allow the gangs to take over the Docks, especially since after Tāwhirimātea passed by there had been a short resurgence of the industry in the area, prompting the ferry to be reopened on a limited basis, temporally stopping the decay of the DWA and allowing them to network out members and jobs to stay afloat.

Sure, there might be a few bad eggs in the DWA, but the threat of fighting the other gangs (plus the PRT) over the Docks, coupled with the risks of trying to remove the workers there (the only ones that really knew what they were doing, and how to keep things legal to avoid the government coming down on their heads), meant that Danny Hebert was more important than he seemed.

As for the dock workers themselves? Most of them would fight tooth and nail to keep their jobs and would do the same for Danny if he asked them for it.

All of this combined meant that the PRT needed to deal with Hebert carefully, because while a single spiderweb could be pushed aside, a dozen working in concert could stop even an elephant if it was built up enough.

If his daughter hadn't have Triggered because of the actions of a Ward, then the PRT wouldn't have had to deal with the possible repercussions of an angry DWA. That it had happened in such a massively public way didn't help matters; the PR department had its hands full just trying to keep what really happened there a secret.

This did mean the PRT did have _some_ leverage with dealing with Danny, but if it wasn't handled right, the DWA could practically cripple the city given the sheer range of the _unofficial_ DWA cardholders that they had picked up over the years as the they sought out any and every job to stay afloat.

Because it was amazing what could happen to a city if all of its janitors, plumbers, electricians, air condition techs, temp workers, and handymen just took a few days off, _all at once._

Not that Renick thought that Danny would do that, nor would it actually come to that if he tried given the state of the DWA in the current climate, as it would result in the organization basically committing suicide. But the powers that be didn't want to even risk it, because to say that the gangs would see it as an opportunity would be an understatement.

A perfect storm, Renick mused. Danny had power, even within the PRT ranks, but they never really needed to deal with him, and vice versa. Now that his daughter Triggered however, the PRT needed him on their side, mostly because of how she Triggered, added into the fact he had just enough power to scare the powers that be.

But then add in the public nature, the questions, the fact of what caused the Trigger, taking care of that, the current state of the city, the questions from the public…

Everything got complicated real fast.

And it all fell onto the Deputy Directors lap to work out a plan of attack, or at least support the Director in the plan of attack. He didn't have to directly deal with it all, Director Piggot had that honor, he just needed to work the logistics of this Triggers aftermath with the other middlemen.

Speaking of which…

* * *

"Her name is Taylor Anne Hebert, DOB June 12th, 1995; age fifteen," Dragon supplied from her monitor in Armsmasters workshop. "Father is Danny Hebert. Mother, Annette Rose Hebert, deceased two years ago in a car crash. Records show that she had good grades, right up until around two years ago, when they began to steadily drop. That’s likely due to the bullying that in time lead to her Triggering."

"Bullying perpetrated by Shadow Stalker," Armsmaster pointed out. The hero was currently bent over his workbench, reintegrating several components that were damaged by the effects of the tree, while Dragon reported her findings that he missed during his stint in M/S Screening.

The readings came back clean, through Armsmaster wasn't able to account for why he went off-grid, something that the PRT wasn't happy about. They had pulled him off active duty for a few days pending reviews of his report and the screening.

"Yes, it does fit the timeline. Records pulled from Shadow Stalker's personal phone shows that at some point one Emma Barnes, Taylor's former best friend of over a decade, and her father, encountered Shadow Stalker when they got saved from a mugging/assault from some ABB members by her. Emma apparently had difficulties recovering from it until Sophia stepped in in a civilian nature. This is backed up by testimony from her father, both for the mugging, and how his daughter and Sophia became ‘friends.’ From there one Madison Clements, one of the other girls involved in the bullying campaign, supplied information on how Hess directed the others, including on how to keep Taylor isolated for the two years that she was bullied."

"… Two years… it's amazing that she lasted that long without anyone reporting or taking action against it," Armsmaster remarked. He paused, there were a few improvements he could do with this circuit board, and if he did that he could further compress those parts here…

"Taylor did attempt to seek assistance in the matter. According to the paper trail, she reported the bullying several times in the beginning. However, due to the fact that without proof and no one other than Taylor was stepping forward, there wasn't much the school could do without acting on the words of one person. And at some point, she just stopped trying."

"Understandable," Armsmaster grunted. "Schools need to be impartial, like the courts. With the amount of issues that Winslow had, on top of the normal drama that occurs when a group of teenagers are stuck in one place, I can see how Taylor would fall through the cracks. Just like if someone is accused of a crime; if there is no hard evidence, then it would be only hearsay. With no evidence, Winslow, of all places in particular, would be hard-pressed to do something about it. Not without taking the words of a single girl at face value.”

Dragon sighed. “It’s sad that things work that way. With what happened to Taylor, and with how many people have stepped forward _now_ , one would think that someone would have done something _more_ before it got to this point. _”_

“It’s a byproduct of society,” Armsmaster clarified. “Not everything can be taken at face value, largely due to people being… well, _people_.” Somehow, without changing his tone, Armsmaster managed to put a certain inflection that carried his ire on that last word.

“Sarcasm, for example. It isn’t something that most would use in serious conversation, yet some would happily use it in those very situations.”

“Like when someone jokes about having a machine gun in the back seat?”

Armsmaster grunted and went back to his soldering.

Colin knew that at times he had a hard time interacting with people casually, as well as understanding when people would choose to mess around or just not take things seriously. Part of it stemmed from his personal beliefs, as well as his dedication to his work.

His ‘fans’ for example; while he easily understood holding someone in high regard, as well as using his image and actions to promote various things (the PRT/Protectorate, as well as selling ‘merch’), it somewhat confused him how many times he would receive mail from people talking about their personal lives, or have someone ask if he could be the father of their child.

Oh, he understood the _whys_. Having a hero to look up to, or even viewing him as a good father figure, both were based on the image he had crafted as Armsmaster, and it did… _please_ him, that people would view him in that way, but at the same time…

 _They didn’t know him_, and while it was nice to hear about someone that had used his poster and ideals as a rallying point for getting through school and life, taking the time out of his day to read about it sometimes just wasn’t worth it; he could be fixing equipment, building new gear, or even training to make sure that people still _could_ send him those messages.

As for the… child, one? Colin firmly believed that that was an undertaking to be done with someone one trusted, had confidence in, and knew well.

Which was current a **_very_** small list.

And while he was… flattered, that some would consider him worthy of such a feat, the simple fact remained that he did not _know_ these people, nor did he have the time needed to properly raise a child (nor the wish to).

“Still,” Armsmaster continued, ignoring Dragons comment of a past mistake. “You bring up a valid point; with what we are now learning about the situation, it amazes me that nothing was done. Did not a single student bring up the bullying, or did the teachers not see it? No, they did, they must have,” Armsmaster muttered.

“Something social-based then, fear of reprisal and standing. Add this to the fact that the teachers can’t take full initiative in some situations, or force a situation to change (it’s unlikely they would have stopped if they were simply _told to_ ), then that would explain how it got to this point. Still, if there was a paper trail of complaints and requests, then someone should have looked into it."

"Several teachers did in fact bring it up,” Dragon supplied. “But with Sophia being a member of the Wards, the school was getting incentives to keep her there, so some were… _overlooked_. Principal Blackwell did send some of those reports to the PRT, but with her position on the Wards meant that they were underplayed to those in higher authority due to the increases in the budget they received. At the same time, Sophia was a good student. Her grades were good enough to keep her in track, she never missed a check-in or a shift with the PRT, and she wasn’t gaining any more interest or attention than any other black female student at Winslow. This all just built up until, as long as Sophia didn't do anything _provable_ , she was untouchable."

It was suddenly very hard for Armsmaster to keep working. A set of loopholes, orders and simple mistakes in judgment involving a member of his Wards had caused someone to Trigger. Furthermore, he knew nothing of it.

Granted, there were supposed to be checks for this kind of thing, Shadow Stalker's handler should have notified him of these reports, and while he was aware of the PRT and Protectorate offering her a spot in the Wards because of the tactical strength of her power (and the fact the PRT ENE was undermanned in capes), the fact simply was that he should have watched her better.

He was the leader of Protectorate East-North-East, this was the very thing he should have been looking for; after all, he was the one that didn't want her on the team in the first place due to her previous activities and general attitude.

He knew of her past, of her interactions with the Wards with her being less than… polite, with the rest of the Wards. How Sophia only was on the team because it was either that or juvie. He was also aware of the fact that she regularly went off on patrols on her own, even when she was with a teammate.

The only reason he hadn't pushed as hard as he could have, was because he had been ordered to try and keep her in the Wards rather than get rid of her, a condition he found acceptable because it also meant that she wasn't out as a borderline villain. Add the fact that her power was both useful and strong, capable of even possibly doing damage an Endbringer, or even Alexandria (baring further testing with how her power phased though things), was a bonus.

He had however, made several logs and notices on her behavior to the higher-ups in an attempt to get them corrected by someone with the authority to do so permanently, as he himself didn't have the authority to just get rid of her, and needed to follow the protocols; or to at least get her transferred out of the city if nothing else.

That wasn’t to say that he didn’t try and guide her down the right path, with her power and skills (refined through age and experience of course), coupled with some of the ‘good’ parts of her personality, Shadow Stalker would have a perfect fit for the Guild. She would have been excellent in the role of scout, tracker or as a breacher, and her limited ties to people would have allowed her to easily stay on the move with the Guilds strike teams.

But there was only so much one could do if the person they were trying to help refused to listen; he couldn't force Sophia into being a better hero any more than he could talk most villains out of doing crimes.

Armsmaster had just assumed that the PRT was dragging their feet because her actions were not that severe compared to what else was going on in the world, nor were they as visible as needed to warrant actual action against.

Colin leaned back in his chair, his work abandoned as he pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes closed. It wasn't something that he would like to admit, given that he was a part of it, but the irony of the situation was not lost on him.

Nor was his place in it.

"… Colin, are you alright?" asked Dragon.

"Fine," Armsmaster replied. "Just thinking. Processing it all."

It could have been a few moments, it could have been several minutes, Colin didn't know, but when it passed and he got back to his welding, the hero couldn't shake the words his Double had said to him with a smile, largely, because as much as he didn't want to admit it, it was true.

_"This is all your fault Kiddo."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Even though I know he's still around, he sometimes still scares the shit outa me when he shows up. You get done with a mission and start walking through the ship and he's right there.  
> He's like a bad houseguest that won't leave you alone, I want to play a game damn it!  
> Echoing Laughter  
> … no wait I don't want to Play a Game!


	5. 1.5 Pain Threshold

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♦ Topic: The Ice Sculpture  
In: Boards ► News ► Events ►America ►Brockton Bay  
Bagrat (Original Poster) (Veteran Member) (The Guy in the Know)  
Posted On Jan 7th, 2011:

Just a heads up, we have plans to merge this thread with the one by SurveyorofInspiration, due to the amount of crossover involved. Furthermore, Surveyor has a more comprehensive post going on, and Bagrat agrees with this action.

Tin_Mother (Moderator)

So, Brockton Bay has an new addition to its skyline, and its actually not too bad looking if you ignore the cost it took to make it.

Details are sparse at the moment, but the PRT has reported that it is the result of a cape using their powers, and has so far, in their typical fashion, withheld more information until an investigation could be completed. But they did confirm that it happened at a local high school and that there were both injuries and fatalities.

(A moment of silence for the lives lost please)

Winslow High School wasn’t the in the greatest area, and not many people really knew about it, now however, the whole city does. The question is, what happened there? A cape fight? But why at a school?

What we do know is that some point after eleven o’clock, there were calls happening to BBPD and the PRT about the school. Emergency services responded, and the PRT also showed up to deal with it.

I’m not going to touch the whole ‘failure to effectively communicate,’ thing some of the politicians are spouting about the police and the PRT, that’s for another post.

I’m going for, what the hell happened in Winslow?

Anyone know anything?

Edit: Ok, so at this point everyone in the Bay knows about the tree. The PRT have released a complete statement (link here), as well as the Mayor with the Chief of Police (link). So, now we know a few things:

The tree (or arboriform, thanks for the tip Elite!), can’t be taken down, but it’s apparently going to fall apart in few weeks. It’s something about the fading power running through it that makes it stronger than steel, even though it’s basically just ice.

It has an unknown mental effect to it, luckily it requires direct contact for a time for it to affect someone, but they are still blocking all access to the surrounding two blocks for safety reasons.

It seems that most of the people that were affected the worse are getting moved to a new PRT funded facility for treatment, what kind of treatment they haven’t said.

But still nothing on the cape that caused it.

  
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(Showing page 26 of 157)

► The_Working_Worker (Cape Cameraman)  
Replied On Jan 7th, 2011:  
I got some pics of the tree from my apartment, you’re right about it adding to the skyline. Hell, its almost downright creepy with how it glows in the sunset, like something out of an Earth Aleph movie, or a fantasy novel someplace where the monsters roam.

we sure nothing is going to come running out of that thing and start eating people?

► Durins_Bane1888   
Replied On Jan 7th, 2011:  
Fuck man, that thing only took a few minutes to form?  
Wonder what the new cape could do if they really let loose.

► IceS3a  
Replied On Jan 7th, 2011:  
So, the PRT is covering their asses, figures.

What do we think, ice power? Tinker gone bad?

Oh, that ice-based cape, is he back?

► Blue_Forgiveness  
Replied On Jan 7th, 2011:  
Should we be worrying about the other capes in the city? I mean with all the publicity this is getting, some of the citys villains might be getting ideas.

With the PRT and the Protectorate all over this, it seems like the perfect time to make a grab for territory without getting caught.

► RickElite  
Replied On Jan 7th, 2011:  
Technically, we should be calling this thing an arboriform, as its tree-like, but not actually a tree.

► Mattros  
Replied On Jan 7th, 2011:  
@RickElite: Isn’t this just a technical term?

► Miss_Shadows  
Replied On Jan 7th, 2011:  
What about the injured? Any new news on them? What mental effects? I know a few people that are telling me things, but they can’t confirm anything, yet.

► XeonLord   
Replied On Jan 7th, 2011:  
I noticed that the PRT was light on those details as well. It’s likely they don’t know and don’t want to say as much.

@Blue_Forgiveness: Strangely they all seem to keeping a low profile, a few Merchants acted up judging from what a few news stations have reported.

Not to say there hasnt been some posturing happening. Apparently, several members of the Empire were spotted doing rounds on the edges of their territory

► RickElite  
Replied On Jan 7th, 2011:  
@ Mattros: Yeah but it’s still A Thing, it’s not really a ‘tree’ but ice shaped into a tree. Kinda like how an SUV is a ‘car’ which in turn is an ‘Automobile.’ People hear the words and fit them to a place or time, car is just a general term like statue. Technically this is a statue as well but calling it an ice arboriform tells us what it really is without generalizing it.

Plus it sounds better than calling it an ice tree all the time.

► Algebra3_14  
Replied On Jan 7th, 2011:  
So just when I was starting to get use to life here, this happens. We have a dragon, an racist hate group, and a small army of drug dealers.

Sure, lets add in a nightly lightshow why not.

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(Showing page 57 of 157)

► Bagrat (Original Poster) (Veteran Member) (The Guy in the Know)  
Replied On Jan 7th, 2011:  
Got some more info that just came down the pipe (thanks to Surveyor), the PRT have released a statement (link), about what ‘happened.’

Most of it is the standard PRT response, pending further investigation. They did they mention having to take some people to get further treatment, but some reports have said that Panacea was there, so treatment for what?

The PRT said to expect more details tomorrow. I’ll update the OP when I (or Surveyor, as he’s going to take charge when this post gets Merged) gets more information on this. 

► PersianLeader   
Replied On Jan 7th, 2011:  
do we know if its really ice or is it just something that looks lie ice? because there are some capes that makethings that seems like other things but are really something else. I mean look how big it is thats got to be more than just ice for it to get that big like that.

► Mattros  
Replied On Jan 7th, 2011:  
@SurveyorofInspiration: do you have links to the PRT? Because not even Bagrat gets his info that fast.

► SurveyorofInspiration (Veteran poster)  
Replied On Jan 7th, 2011:  
@Mattros: Nah, most of it comes from others, I just have no life outside work, so it’s easy for me to consolidate things. It’s amazing what you can do with all the free time in the world.

► Miss_Shadows  
Replied On Jan 7th, 2011:  
@PersianLeader: I mean, sure, but it’s likely powers bullshit. Argonaut was able to make houses with his power, I have a cousin that lives in one now after the Hoover Dam collapsed from Tāwhirimātea passing over.

► Miestloss (Veteran Member) (PRT Science)  
Replied On Jan 7th, 2011:  
That’s not quite what Argonaut did, his power tended to fade after a few hours unless managed by another cape or Tinker-Tech. I concede your point though; given the height range of the ‘ice,’ even when taking into account using the school building as an anchor, whatever this is, is not ice.

► XeonLord  
Replied On Jan 7th, 2011:  
@ Miss_Shadows: Does it suck, because I’ve heard that they suck. Mass production homes via modified containment foam and projection power sounds like it can help fix the housing crisis, until you live in one, right?

Not to say that’s its better than the alternative, but still…

Hey, did they finish reconstruction on the Dam? I know that Dragon was going to get involved, but that was like five years ago.

► WolfRun (Wiki Warrior)  
Replied On Jan 7th, 2011:  
*Checks* No, construction is to be finished sometime in 2013, to account for new power plants and location. It’s going to be larger and have better spillways so it doesn’t happen again.

Budget and construction issues have slowed things down, Dragon helping took some pressure off, but it’s still going to a hard road.

► Miss_Shadows  
Replied On Jan 7th, 2011:  
No she hates it. Half the houses either look the same, are falling apart, or are such a colorful mess that they won’t look out of place in a bad area of somewhere like New York.

Good concept, but the reality is the opposite. 

► munch_O_matic (Veteran Poster)  
Replied On Jan 7th, 2011:  
Derail in progress, we should probably get back on track before a mod takes notice.

But while it’s happening…

At least Tāwhirimātea made the whole region practically farmland for a while, not exactly to the benefit to those that lost their homes to the flood. But they did manage to recover.

Better than the Great Plains Disaster at least. Tāwhirimātea still avoids that whole area, and I’m sure it’s just out of spite at this point.

Which sucks because the latest reports suggest that the area effected is spreading.

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(Showing page 104 of 157)

► AllSeeingEye  
Replied On Jan 8th, 2011:  
@Last_Hurrya: You’re lucky to have not gotten banned from that comment actually, trying to figure out a capes ident is practically a criminal offense among parahumans, even among the actual criminals.

Plus, based on your comment, you believe the PRT dribble about the two ways to get powers. Allow me to correct that for you with hard data and studies done around the world.

Link    
Link   
Link   
Link   
Link   
Link

► AverageAlexandros (Cape husband)  
Replied On Jan 8th, 2011:  
Eye is right, you shouldn’t have been walking down that road, that way is the way of chaos and anarchy and the very reason that the Unwritten Rules are in play. 

Same goes for Triggers, look it up, don’t go asking the capes themselves, don’t try to work out what happened based on someone’s power, even if you’re just curious about them and new. You’ll figure out why people don’t talk about them.

@ AllSeeingEye: that being said, I detect a hint of aggression from you Eye. Not going to ask the obvious thing, but are you alright? Normally you’re the sassy intellectual (with a hint of being an ass), it’s not like you to make a snapy comment and leave.

► Last_Hurrya  
Replied On Jan 8th, 2011:  
Sorry didn’t mean for that to happen. Was just thinking out loud and was wondering how the hell the PRT managed to keep the capes identity secret. It’s not like someone could just ask the kids where they were then cross reference after all.

Still am pissed for getting my first warning ever for stating the obvious.

► Robby  
Replied On Jan 8th, 2011:  
Just because we can figure out that our new cape was at a school during a school day doesn’t mean they were a student there, it could have been a teacher or a guest. Even if they were, Eye is right, we could easily track down the students that went there and then cross-reference those that got out, alive or dead, to figure out who is the new cape, but that’s an bad idea. 

The last thing we need is another Fleur happening, especially with kids involved.

God only knows what a parent will do to protect their child.

Or avenge them.

So basically, don’t do it; if the cape comes out with their identity after this, then that’s their decision, not ours.

@Last_Hurrya: I’m sure the PRT has stacks of premade NDAs just in case of situations like this.

► AllSeeingEye  
Replied On Jan 8th, 2011:  
@AverageAlexandros: Under a lot of stress right now, boss is being a dick and the work I’m doing at the moment isn’t helping.

… Thanks though.

► IcedS3a  
Replied On Jan 8th, 2011:  
What exactly happened with the police and PRT communicating? And why are they making a big deal about it?

Also, other than New Wave, do we know of any capes that have public idents? That not a normal thing, right?

► Tracksuitfive (Brockton Bay City Official)  
Replied On Jan 8th, 2011:  
It had to do with how visible the Event was.

With it being able to be seen from most of the city, the BBPD really didn’t bother to contact the PRT until they were starting to arrive, meaning the Police Officers first on scene thought that the PRT would have it handled and that they just needed to secure the outer area, only to find that the PRT were expecting the Department to have begun the basic containment procedures when they got there due to the fact it was so visible and the fact they got there first.

Things got sorted out pretty quickly, but there still a few minutes were some members of BBPD were just standing around waiting for the PRT to take care of things, as Parahuman Events are their jurisdiction.

Safe to say this did not look good to those requiring assistance. 

Luckily, a number of Officers did assist at the location before the PRT arrived, and an investigation is ongoing into the actions, or lack of, of the first responders.

Rest assured that City Hall and the Chief of Police are working with Director Piggot to both resolve this issue, as well establish new protocols to prevent this from happening again.

► The_Working_Worker (Cape Cameraman)  
Replied On Jan 8th, 2011:  
Fuck, it’s even worse at night, and I’ve gotten pics of Endbringer destruction! Link

@IcedS3a: There’s a few kicking around, the two ones most people know best are Miss Mountain and her husband Mr. Ardor (they still have cape names however, it’s an PR thing), mostly through they are recovery people; they travel the world helping to fix up places after disasters, like after Endbringers attacks.

There is also that one kid over in California who can draw stuff out of chalk and bring it into 3D, he was like seven when he Triggered. They almost quarantined the town until the PRT realized they were not only cartoon characters that could be defeated with a squirt bottle, but they were acting like cartoons as well; you know all overdramatic and not really a threat to anyone.

I don’t know the limits on his power off the top of my head, but I do remember that while he could draw up guns and bombs that act just like what they looked like, their effects were rather lackluster, meaning his threat rating was quickly dropped.

Last I heard about him he was going to art school on the PRTs dime, but there were no major plans for him to be a heavy hitter for the Protectorate. He apparently won’t do much against an Endbringer

► NeverBeAHokage  
Replied On Jan 8th, 2011:  
Damn, talk about a night light, I noticed it across town! What effects are we talking about anyway? I know they’ve moved people away from it, but is it airborne? What symptoms should we be looking for? The press release really didn’t say.

► The_Immaterium  
Replied On Jan 8th, 2011:  
@ NeverBeAHokage: Oh, you’d know what the effects are, trust me on that one Kiddo.

End of Page. 1, 2, 3, … 102, 103, 104, 105, 106, … 155, 156, 157

  
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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Now that I’ve reached the end of the first arc, I can address some things. (By the Void this A/N is massive, oh, and you guys reading this on SB, I edited some of it for you all. And in two days an actual new chapter will be posted! Not just a re-post from FF.net!)  
> First, the ice tree; you see a lot of them whenever you visit Orokin based locations and at first, I thought of them to be crystalized Void, but then I remembered that there is also those frost traps that slows you down if you run over them that have similar textures, plus the fact that the Void is… well, the Void, so that was out.  
> But then I remembered that you tend to see lots of water features in Orokin places, but yet the ‘plants’ in question are overgrown in some places (Lua, the Derelicts), plus you also see them in the back room of your ship, but none of these effect you, so I hit up on the idea that the ice (or water) is used as conduct for Void power (which also fits in with the back of the ship as well; plus there is that fight over the Reservoir that happens with the tree you can activate to refill your Warframes energy).  
> Plus, it fits with the Orokin mentality, ‘oh this is some super dangerous stuff, let’s make it into a feature that we can look at to showcase our power over it!’   
> Course I thought of all this before a reviewer (RicartElit) pointed out what they were called (arboriform) which actually helped me out with this chapter (also thanks to others as well! I put some/most of the first of you in as PHO posters!).  
> But on the flip side I found an old post about arboriforms because of him and an idea about them on the Warframe Wiki that fit my theory nearly perfectly, so it all worked out better than my original idea of having just a Void Rift open up randomly in the school.  
> Second, the video that Dragon found. I get that Earth Bet would be somewhat behind in tech due to the whole Powers Thing (and it being an AU because of that), but I also can see basic flip phones with cheap cameras being around; add this to the fact that Wildbow pointed out that the Trio were pushing the school students to keep out of their and Taylors ‘business,’ but also the fact everyone seemed to know about it (and the fact that hey, it’s Worm, it’s not a fairy tale world), why wouldn’t there be someone recording it for kicks?   
> Not everyone would be stepping up to help her after all, some might even want to join in because that’s just how people can be.  
> Third, Danny and the DWA. While I maybe pushing what they can do, considering the fact of both Danny’s position and what the Bay used to be (a shipping city), it wouldn’t be too farfetched to think Danny could do something like I described. We know that he won't, but when you look at both the power involved and the condition of the world, the PRT isn’t likely to take chances on anything that could damage their image. After all, if one of Danny's friends calls two of his, and they each call two old friends and so on and so on, then things can get out hand pretty quickly.  
> (Plus, my head Canon is that the DWA has partially taken over as the place to go to get a blue collar job, given with the fact the Bay had fallen on hard times, the DWA might have folded in with other contractors. Do you need a plumber for your business? Call the DWA, they have skilled certified workers just looking for paying jobs, same as construction workers, etc. While they haven't singled out all the blue collared jobs, a Union can be more than just one set of jobs, plus what else would they be doing if shipping had practically stopped?)  
> One last thing, I know that it's a slow start, but don't worry, Warframes and their aspects will come (it wouldn't be a good Warframe Crossover without them), but not for some time, sorry. I need to do some world building/forming first, there are reasons I'm doing what I'm doing, just you wait, I might surprise you.


	6. Shell Shock

_September 2005_

_DrapDrapdapradaprDapdrapdrapDrapdapa_

The sounds of rain pounding into the roof echoed in the house, even on the ground floor the impacts were deafening. The window before the two ten-year-olds rattled as the wind from the storm rushed by, blocked from shattering from the gale-force winds only by the shutters bolted around the frame and the suction panels clinging onto the glass itself to hold it in place.

Taylor and Emma both eyed the glass; neither of them had helped place the reinforcement and while Emma’s home was both newer and more secure than Taylors, a tropical storm was nothing to ignore.

Emma’s living room had been transformed into something better suited from the 1870s. Everything electric had been unplugged, lightbulbs had been removed, the tv had been pressed up against the back of the couch, while things like phones had been powered down/unplugged and placed inside boxes, then further set aside.

Covered candles lay atop furniture, fabric placed carefully away from the open flames. Planks of wood, not two-by-fours but actual panels, rested against walls, with several taking up places right in front of the windows and front door, in case of a breach. Blankets, canned food, cases of water, clothes, and other necessities lay scattered around the room as well; all carefully organized and set up for up to two possible weeks of simple living.

Things had been counted twice, moved into place, and counted again before the door had been sealed up like the windows; it won’t do to find yourself missing something in this weather with what was coming.

The parents of the two, plus Emma’s sister, had gathered in the kitchen, discussing options and plans for the next few days that they would likely be stuck in the house. No one wanted, or could really, go outside while the storm was happening. At least not without proper equipment.

The last week had been a flurry of activity for Brockton Bay as people geared up for the storm; lucky it was the Bay, no other storm was predicted to intercept this particular one, and the geography of the region meant that it was going to be a mild one.

Not that it meant much, most places could still flood and would get damaged from the water and wind. On the flip side, there was going to be a surge of construction and a need for workers in the coming weeks, as well as more than a few happy gardeners.

On the downside however, was how _overrun_ the Bay was going to be with plants in a few days.

In the distance, thunder boomed, and a flash of light edged through the shutters.

“… I want to see it,” Taylor whispered.

Emma gave her a look and hissed, “You want to go outside!?”

Such a prospect was nearly suicide given that the city was locked down as it was. If something happened to them, then the only people that could help were the ones in the building with them; the same ones that wouldn’t let them outside in the first place.

“Doesn’t your sisters’ room have a view of the mountains?” Taylor asked.

Emma considered this for a moment, before turning her head and looking at where all the adults were, her braid swishing as she did so.

Neither one of them even should have been close to the windows, in case they were blown inwards. There were panels that should have been placed over the inside of the windows to prevent this, but given the predicted rating of the storm, the adults had decided that they didn’t need them (yet); plus the fact that the living room windows faced away from the flight path helped, as it meant that it was unlikely that something would get sent through them due to which way the winds were blowing.

The young redhead bit her lip; no doubt the prospect of seeing the cause of the storm was enticing, and it was only passing over the mountains at an angle to Brockton Bay…

The pair carefully and quietly made their way to the stairs. Half-whispered conversations echoed through the kitchen door as they bypassed it. Taylor could hear her mother talking to others, laying out plans for the days to come, as the others interjected with ideas and questions.

In a way, the two families were lucky; they had each other, the members of the DWA, and help from Alans’ coworkers. This meant that all the things most people would struggle within this situation (moving things, the planning, making sure that valuables were secured from both water and thieves, sealing up homes, gathering supplies), were taken care of in a few days before the storm hit.

There had been more than a few incidents around the city of people fighting each other over supplies, or rushing to leave the city at the last minute, which caused problems for the BBPD and the PRT; Both of whom were working hard to make sure nothing happened, and that the storm would roll over the city without issue.

Emma led the way into her sisters' room and darkness greeted them. Everything electronic had been unplugged and secured, from the main power switch outside, to batteries inside clocks; a time-consuming process, but a necessary one considering the dangers involved from a possible EMP.

Like the ones downstairs, the windows upstairs were sealed shut, but both inside and outside in this case. It only took a few clicks of the latches to open the inner shutters however. There was nothing they could do with the outer ones, but the way the shutter panels were aligned to force water away from the windows meant that the pair of pre-teens could see through a gap to the outside, if barely, and only if they pressed themselves to the glass.

Winds blew, the tree in Emma’s backyard shook, and the glass rattled as gusts passed by. This all combined with the rain to create poor visibility. The mountains, which normally were mostly visible over the hills and distance leading up to them, were completely obscured under the cloud cover; not having any power in the city to cut through the gloom didn’t help either.

Some things were easier to see however, as it was hard to miss the swirling clouds up above, or the lighting as it lit up the area in flashes.

“… I don’t see anything,” Emma whispered. “Maybe it’s gone past already?”

Taylor shook her head amidst a distant _boom_ of thunder, eyes not leaving the gap and the sight beyond. “It’s supposed to take a few days for it to pass, and its only been raining for a day… it’s out there, somewhere. Just… keep looking.”

Several minutes past, though it felt like hours to the pair, with only the sounds of rain and their breathing accompanying them. The glass began to fog up with their breath as they waited, with Taylor wiping away the condensation.

“… Maybe we should go back downstairs Tay.”

Taylor glanced at her friend, she could see in her eyes that she was afraid, and sighed after a moment.

“Ok… help me pu…”

The rain stopped falling.

After hearing it for so long, the sudden lack of it made the silence nearly deafening, even with the wind still howling.

Both of girls pressed themselves to the glass, earlier misgivings forgotten, as they watched in amazement as water floated and swirled just outside the window.

Taylor felt her hair begin to stand on end, and saw that Emma’s was starting to do the same.

From the distance, a new sound emerged. A thrumming, pulsing in a rhythmic pattern. Starting as a low tone, then building higher as it increased in speed, the pauses between the thrumming getting shorter with each cycle.

Each pause was shorter in time, and every pulse of sound increased further in pitch, the result being the sound got louder every few seconds.

And louder.

And faster.

And louder.

And faster.

And _louder._

 _And_ _fas…_

Silence.

The two girls glanced at one another, their eyes asking the same questi…

_BOOM_

The girls screamed as night, turned, to _day;_ as multicolored lightning filled the sky, cracking it into pieces like a shattered mirror.

Streetlamps surged, the bulbs coming alive for a moment before they shattered. Emma’s’ sisters’ alarm clock turned on, blaring, before it fried with a _crackle._ A sole lamp, still having its bulb, followed the example of the streetlamps outside, lighting up the room before breaking, sending glass fragments everywhere with a spray of sparks.

In an instant, everything was visible through the mist of the storm, fueled by the lightning; from the far-off mountain range, down to the house behind the backyard. Strange shadows formed as the lightning filled the sky in seconds, blinding anyone that just so happened to be looking outside at the time for several moments.

As the young girls rapidly blinked spots out of their vision, movement in the clouds caught their eyes; through the gaps of the shutters, they caught sight of the source of the lightning, in all of its unearthly impossibility.

Floating serenely downward within the storm, was something _massive_ ; so much so that the girls couldn’t comprehend what they were seeing at first, as it seemed to be part of the very skies itself.

They just caught a _glimpse_ of it with their recovering vision; its dark skin blending into the clouds like camouflage not helping matters. A wing, forcing a whole section of cloud out of the way as it pushed downward, the main body twisting up to pull itself out of its shallow dive. Lines of faint light streaked over its flesh, seemingly random in appearance.

A distant sound rumbled through the air, a mix of a whale call, with the clicks of a cricket.

There was a distant rush of displaced air as it forced its way up with its wings, rattling the whole house with the force, before the object vanished back into the clouds, impossibly fast for something of its size, which in turn churned for _miles_ from the sudden powerful displacement.

The door behind Taylor and Emma burst open, concerned voices asking if they were alright, as they were gathered up and the window was sealed once more.

Both Taylor and Emma would not forget that day; not for the fact that they were stuck indoors for nearly three days as the storm passed by, but for what they had _seen._

It shook both of them, their minds rebelling in defiance at what they had saw. _Nothing should be that big,_ they said. _It’s impossible, an abnormally._

Like natives of old America, seeing three-mast ships and white men for the first time, they couldn’t comprehend it, couldn’t rationalize it into their understanding of how the world worked.

But seen it they had, and therefore joined a relatively small group of people; the ones that saw an Endbringer with their own eyes, and lived to tell the tale.

Everyone on Earth knew of this particular beast. Named by the native peoples of New Zealand from where it was first spotted, it was one of three Endbringers that never fled after a fight, like the Big Three did.

It was the strongest of them all, flying within a storm of its own making; lashing out with enough power to have killed two of the seven most powerful capes in the world during their single disastrous attack on it, and sent the rest of them running after it swatted Alexandria from the sky in one blow.

But strangely, unlike the rest of the Endbringers, this one sought no conflict.

It did not travel to cities to drown and wash them away in water, like Leviathan would.

It did not consume all in its path, and then add all it had eaten into itself like Eukaryote did.

It did not scorch the ground with heat and ash, reading everything bare like Behemoth.

It did not roam endlessly in the Earth, seeking noise and disturbances to bury in the sands, like the Shai-Hulud.

It did not twist people into monsters and demons, turning them against one another like the Simurgh.

It surfed the winds of its own making, lightning lighting its way. Following a path that only it knew, purifying the land and sea in its wake.

Occasionally, a city was destroyed, a region awash and overgrown, but it never out of maliciousness. In fact, one could say that the beast that the Māori called the god of weather, was cleaning the Earth, restoring it; it just happened to be indifferent to the humans that found themselves in its path.

Some, like farmers and environmentalists, all but worshiped the Endbringer. Others, like those that lived on mountains, by seas, lakes, rivers, and cities, cursed its name and prayed that it never turned its sightless gaze in their direction.

But in the end, despite what they felt about it, all _knew_ its name.

Tāwhirimātea.

The _Stormbringer._


	7. Vigilante Supplies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Gah, trying to set this up as a ‘tv documentary’ was painful. Hope I got the ideas across through.

_Known as the ‘peaceful Endbringer,’ Tāwhirimātea, or Tāwhiri, flies across the world at fifteen thousand feet, a constant storm surrounding it._

_The term tropical storm is often used in conjunction with Tāwhirimātea, for not only does the storm extend over fifty miles, a feat normally reserved for full force hurricanes, but winds speeds stay consistent within six to eight on the Beaufort scale at ground level, with numbers as high as nine occurring when the Endbringer crosses onto land, or intercepts another storm._

_As such, Tāwhirimātea’s storm has been classified as a tropical, or thunderstorm at minimum._

_Compared to the Big Three of Endbringers however, Tāwhirimātea does not follow the standard pattern of destruction, instead seemingly content to fly through the atmosphere with no discernible pattern._

_This does not mean that Tāwhiri is not considered a worldwide danger however, as the sheer volume of rainwater it’s storm creates, and can create, places the third Endbringer on par with Leviathan in terms of output._

_Unlike Leviathan however, Tāwhirimātea’s water has proven beneficial effects on both the local environment and even on people that consume it, calling into question the motives of this Endbringer._

_Plant growth can double seemly overnight in places that Tāwhiri had passed through; pollution levels drop to pre-industrialization levels as everything from radiation, to toxic spills are wiped clean by the downpour._

_In fact, some believe that the water has mystical properties, as when Tāwhiri performed a single pass over the Great Plains, three weeks later whole herds of wild buffalo were spotted traveling the Plains; given the amount of buffalo that were spotted, the only conclusion that researchers could come to, was that Tāwhiri somehow managed to replicate the animals, then set them free in their natural habitat._

_However, cities and whole regions can experience devastating effects from the downpour, as the water from Tāwhiri can cause floods in both rivers and on mountains, causing raging mudslides and submerging whole areas underwater in the few days that the Endbringer passes through._

_This is further compounded by the fact that Tāwhirimātea’s storm, while contained around itself, can both fuel and interact with other weather phenomenon; this can either strengthen, weaken, or even redirect storms, further enhancing the Endbringers threat._

_But strangely, Tāwhirimātea has never caused a hurricane or tornado to strike a major city, nor has it ever formed one (except for one extreme case)._

_In fact, more than once, Tāwhirimātea has seeming redirected major storms that it has formed away from populated areas, calling into question if this creature is truly an Endbringer._

_Its size and appearance, however, does not help it in this case._

_Given the fact that the Endbringer is in a constant tropical storm with wind speeds reaching ten, eleven and even twelve on the Beaufort scale (or higher, if the Endbringer was transitioning from a warm sea to land) within eight miles of the Endbringer, gathering information on it has proven difficult. However, with the use of Tinker-Tech, and several Alexandria package class capes, the governments of the world have managed to piece together a good idea of what Tāwhirimātea looks like._

_The main length of Tāwhirimāteas’ body is recorded at over one thousand five hundred feet long, with a wingspan of somewhere in the three thousand to four thousand feet range, making the Endbringer the largest non-natural object known to man._

_The closest analog that can be given to the shape of Tāwhirimātea is a Manta Ray; a large, flattened body with triangular wings extending from it. When viewed from below or above however, the overall shape suggests more of an oval shape from wingtip to wingtip, at least when not counting the tails._

_Said tails number in the dozens, several stretching out nearly just as far the Endbringers main body. This is not the only abnormally to the Manta Ray comparison._

_All across its skin, lay both holes of many sizes, as well as craggily formations. The outcroppings all follow an aerodynamic pattern, no matter the size and shape, flowing backwards with the wind. Some of these formations are the size of cars and buses; others are far smaller and resemble more of a sharks dermal denticles._

_As for the holes, they are protected by a type of shield; one that not even someone like Alexandria can bypass. Therefore, it is unknown what lies behind them._

_A popular opinion, however, is that it uses these openings to form the creatures and animals that it releases into the world._

_Many in the various governments and scientific institutes have expressed concern over these animals, as it is unknown if they are ticking time bombs, just waiting to go off._

_Some have pointed out that several industries have been revived because of these animals, and that several of them are still on the endangered species lists, protecting them from hunting and or/killing._

_Entire legal teams, backed by scientists and researchers from across the world, have gathered to work on this issue. This project however, does not encompass what to do about the Endbringer itself._

_But given that several of the world’s most powerful Capes have engaged Tāwhirimātea, resulting in the deaths of Argonaut and Icarus, as well as other numerous heroes, and delivering an impact to Alexandria so powerful, that it launched her to the next state, as well as the mass ecological destruction of as a result of_ _Tāwhirimātea letting lose, it was decided that the Endbringer would be left alone, as long it continued to not show direct aggression towards humans._

_Still, one must wonder if Tāwhirimātea is simply biding its time to strike._

* * *

_Shari-Hulud, also referred to as the Deathworm, wanders the area of what geologically referred to as Asia, as well as occasionally entering the Indian geographical regions; it has even made its way into European section of the continent several times._

_Which was disastrous considering Shari-Huluds size._

_At over three miles long, and with a diameter of over seventy-feet, Shari-Hulud is a beast of an Endbringer._

_It is also one of two that could be fought with conventional means._

_Though most would not consider bunker-buster missiles and bombs capable of flattening whole city blocks as ‘conventional’._

_Despite this, the capes and governments of the world have been forced to herd Shari-Hulud, rather than destroy it._

_This bizarre feat stems from the fact that the Shari-Hulud not only has a mouth capable of eating anything that passes into it, limiting its potential damage, but actually ends up being more dangerous as it takes damage._

_And at three miles long, Shari-Hulud takes a considerable time to move; which is further slowed by the fact it seems to prefer to travel the land by diving into the earth, then reemerging some distance away._

_The final cause for the capes of the world to treat Shari-Hulud like a lost cow, is the fact that it is segmented into eighty-foot long sections down the length of its body. And if the Deathworm sustains enough damage to an area of its body, at every seventh segment, it splits, forming another Shari-Hulud._

_Both the original section, and the new, are capable of the same actions; digging, moving, attacking. However, due to the decreased size of the Deathworm, its speed and turning ratios are improved._

_If the attacks upon Shari-Hulud continued, the Shari-Hulud continues to split at every seventh segment, and it is theorized that it will continue to do so until its nearly thirty sections separate from one another._

_Given the fact that each separation causes each instance of Shari-Hulud to move faster, things quickly tend to get out of hand._

_For while the individual Shari-Hulud can be killed with ease due to the fact they are far easier to damage than the Big Three, they are capable of both running and reconnecting with one another after a fight._

_While each section can receive enough damaged to be ‘killed,’ this will cause the other sections to turn on it, consuming it. And if the sections total number drop below ten, they scatter, disappearing into the earth like Behemoth; only to reemerge months later, fully reformed._

_Despite being the only Endbringer able to be killed and studied, it is just as unknown as the rest of the Endbringers, as when a segment is killed, it rapidly begins to dissolve, or is turned upon by the rest of the body, being consumed in a display of cannibalism._

_In terms of appearance, the Shari-Hulud is rather lackluster compared to all other Endbringers._

_With molten brown skin, and raised areas where the segments lie, the only difference between the Shari-Hulud and a common earthworm, is the size, and the mouth, which is closed off but for three triangular flaps; each containing an inner flap, and an outer flap._

_Within the mouth of Shari-Hulud lies rows and rows of teeth, capable of chewing through anything, with some kind of rolling energy field being spotted much further back in the ‘throat’; not even the time-stopping power of the Ward Clockblocker can prevent the Shari-Hulud from devouring whatever lies in its path._

_In the end, the capes of the world have been forced to serve as shepherds to the Deathworm, attacking it and distracting it by using themselves and large sonic vibrations, both of which are enough to usually cause the Shari-Hulud to change course._

_But as places like Moscow and Turkey can attest, this plan is not always effective._

* * *

_Of the six Endbringers that have appeared, none invokes more primal fear than Behemoth; except, perhaps, Eukaryote._

_While the Herokiller is known as an unstoppable force, the_ _Ziz as a doomsday planner, and Jormungand as the rage of the seas, it is Eukaryote that gained the most infamy. This is in large part due to what the Endbringer did, and the response given to it._

_Nearly two thousand square miles of Korea was destroyed by nuclear weapons in a successful attempt to stop the Endbringers growth over the peninsula. A few weeks later, several more nuclear devices were used to eliminate reforming remnants of the Endbringer in the surrounding areas._

_Unlike all other Endbringers, Eukaryote had no single body; instead, it operated like a virus, infecting and consuming everything it came across, from trees, to rocks, even metals were not immune to the creep of Eukaryote._

_Many have asked why it was only this Endbringer that nuclear weapons were used against._

_The answer? Location and practicality._

_Given the strength of Endbringers, their durability, and the locations that they tend to appear, attacking most Endbringers with nuclear weapons was deemed not only quite possibly more devastating than the attacks themselves, but for more destructive in the long-term._

_Radiation can travel on the winds, waters, and sink into the earth, making places completely unhabitable far beyond what most Endbringers are capable of. While Behemoth is capable of leaving behind swaths of radiation, the Simurgh can turn all that hear her scream into time bombs, and Leviathan can sink an island, none of these actions have the same devasting impacts as our own nuclear weapons._

_Today’s modern nuclear weapons have yields far beyond what was dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki; even a ‘tactical’ version can still have radioactive dust travel for miles, as the world has seen with Chernobyl._

_Furthermore, given the fact that most places where Endbringers attack, using nuclear weapons would be as good and writing off those areas; Hawaii, which was all but destroyed by erupting volcanoes, gained a revival when Tāwhirimātea passed over the island a year later, as the island had doubled in size after Behemoth attacked and had plentiful farmland due to the enriched ground from_ _Tāwhirimātea rainfalls._

_Plus, given each of the skills possessed by the Endbringers, using nukes on them would simply be a bad idea._

_But not for Eukaryote, for the simple reason that the Endbringer was not a massive ‘being,’ instead, it started as, what the governments have classified it as, a bacterium._

_A kind of powers-based bacterium, one that was not only airborne, but could create creatures, amalgams of flesh and even metal, to attack and further spread itself._

_Eukaryote was unable to be Precoged, and, most disturbingly, when it consumed Parahumans, all of its connected creatures could gain and use that Parahuman power._

_When this fact was discovered, the PRT and other world-wide groups were contacted for a possible Endbringer situation; and after but six days of fighting, just a mere week and a half after Eukaryote was discovered consuming the forests of Korea, the capes fighting conceded defeat._

_It took another three days for governments to arrange the nuclear weapons; notedly, leaked data suggests that two of these days were spent for those same governments fighting against using these weapons, with some even suggesting that the capes in question were not fighting hard enough._

_But with the number of dead and turned rising rapidly due to the inconceivable infection rate, which caused a massive spike in the area that Eukaryote covered due to capes unknowingly spreading it, several nuclear missiles were launched._

_Unfortunately, each of these were intercepted by Scion within a minute of launch, forcing the heroes, as any villains had either been long killed or left the area, into teleporting the bombs into place._

_Questions were asked of why Scion would do this, of why he would stop us from destroying Eukaryote. For that matter, why did he never show up at Korea?_

_The last sighting of Scion before the nuclear launches, several days before in fact, was in Russia, where he was diverting flooding caused by Tāwhirimātea, having past through the area a week before. Following that however… he disappeared._

_At least until after the teleporting capes deposited the nukes into the contaminated zone. After that, Scion was spotted traveling over Australia, locating a crashed private jet that had gone down in the area._

_But in the end, as usual, Scion ignored any questions directed at him._

_What followed after the nuclear detonations, was six months of terror, as heroes worked hard to track down anyone and anything that was in the infected zone. And eliminated it if it showed any signs of infection._

_Most of the fallout drifted into the seas and largely unoccupied mountains due to prevailing winds, but the actual damage is hard to estimate._

_For while the blasts were grouped together to do the most damage possible to the center of Eukaryote, which had begun to form a large mass from which creatures that could stand next to Behemoth emerged, it was only estimated that Eukaryote had spread to a two thousand square mile area, as taking an actuate measurement was… difficult._

_The Eukaryote Exclusion Zone is reported to be over ten thousand square miles. This number was given due to the fallout and damage caused by the nuclear detonations, of which, no report was given for any many bombs were used, nor their yield._

_Even the two thousand square mile number for the estimated area that Eukaryote consumed is just that, an estimate, one born by data pulled from what little information was leaked from the attack._

_Due to the presence of so many foreign powers, even with the Endbringer Truce being only tentatively followed by the Koreas, caused North Korea to posture, making claims and moments that spoke of war._

_The government there said, over international television no less, that there was no Eukaryote, that it was foreign powers seeking to overthrow the North Korean government, and that the use of nuclear weapons was an attempt to weaken them as a prelude to an attack._

_Four months later, the Simurgh descended upon Pyongyang._

_She stayed within the city for nearly three days. Following which, a North Korea opened fire on South Korean troops._

_Even now, four years later, the war between the two nations continues to wage on; the North fueled by a seemingly endless tide of soldiers, while the South has gained the support of allies and capes, some even coming as far as Russia to help stop the madness._

_The latest reports suggest that the fight will still continue for several more years before analysists believe that the North will hit the point that they will no longer be able to reliably sustain the fight._

_Those same analysists, however, have warned for the possibility of the North resorting to a guerrilla war, which could prolong the war for another five years._

_It goes to show, no matter which side wins an Endbringer fight, we still lose something._

Archived Video Report on

TheNexusofRails

An underground world-wide communication, messaging, managing, and art sharing form

Tin_Mother has given their stamp of approval to this report

* * *

Watchdog has made several attempts in removing the file, none have succeeded. And given that the last time we stomped out the digital links of TheNexusofRails, we had to restore all our databanks from backups, I suggest that we leave them be for now.

We need to figure out how far this Tin_Mother reaches, as well as how The Nexus keeps getting their data from our databanks, before we can take them down. For that, however, we need better leads from the field.

I recommend increasing the PRT presence at all Nexus functions, they may be using those to send messages to each other’s cells. And yes, I know, you want these leaks plugged, but even with Dragon helping us, we have gotten nothing outside electronic data. All of which was either scrubbed, or lead us to fried physical relay.

These guys are good, and have to have international backing for them to be able to pull this off. We need to coordinate with other agencies, domestic and not, to get these guys.

Watchdog can’t do it alone, there, I said it. You don’t like it? Tough. You want Tin_Mother found? Well.

It's kinda hard to find someone if the only leads you have are digital ghosts.

We'll keep on it, but at this point, don’t expect anything.

Watchdog Director to,

Chief Director Costa-Brown


	8. 2.1 Rolling Guard

_You may ask, why words? What power can they have over the ones that rule over the Origin System?_

_It is simple really._

_What are concepts but for actions born from words?_

_When the Seven convened to bring judgment down on Archimedian Perintol and his constructs for The Plan, I used guile and old rivalries as weapons, striking with precision at the points I knew would bring forth the most reaction in my favor._

_In doing such, I altered the course of the decision. All I had to do is make them think that it was their decision to allow the project to continue._

_We know better, don’t we?_

_All those centuries of experience, and those fools on the council never saw the truth behind my actions, too wrapped up in their own affairs. This is what you must learn to guard against, to protect yourself from, as there will always be others seeking to destroy you._

_Perception and context, the tools of the hidden trade._

_Tuvul saw what he wanted to see, a man, humbled, beaten, humiliated, never knowing that this was the plan, as they were the ones that lacked the context of the exchange._

_Their own perceptions blinded them to the truth, of what I didn’t say._

_Of how I was the one to give strength to the Archimedian, just a few whispered words, of what to say and do._

_The strength of an army may be absolute, but if you know the right words to whisper in the ears of an ally or an enemy…_

_Then you can control the very fates themselves._

** \---Worm-In-Waiting--- **

There was no way in getting around it, I was procrastinating.

The last few bits of 'homework,' if one could call it that, that I had been given during my… break, was done. I had done enough food prep for the next several days, and the apartment was clean enough that the only way it could get any better was if I started painting.

Which I was seriously considering. After all, when I took into account that it was unlikely dad or me could be going back to the house for a few more weeks, if not months, the idea of making this place feel _somewhat_ like home was appealing.

It was far smaller than our real home, only having two bedrooms towards the back, with an open floorplan for the kitchen and breakfast nook. The living room doubled as the entryway, holding a smallish couch and a TV mounted on the wall. Neither of us were able to bring any of our own furniture the rooms were so small, so we made do with what the place came with.

Still, it was nice for the PRT to foot the bill for us, even if it was a blatant attempt to try and get on our good side after what their mistakes cost us.

I didn't have a set day to get to my destination, just that they would have their doors open to me to come in at any time, starting _today_. The only restriction was that, for legal reasons, I needed to show up within five days, or they would either show up themselves and bring me to _them._

Whichever came first.

I cast one last looked around the room. The TV was off; it was rarely used. There were reports from my father about the DWA that I had straightened up on the breakfast nook table, the dishes were done and drying, the few bits and bobs that helped change the room from feeling like a hotel room to a place where someone could call _home_ were tidied up. A picture here, shoes and jacket there, all were set into places, if not their _proper_ ones.

It didn't feel like a home to me, more like a gilded cage. We could leave, but there were possible dangers involved until we'd dealt with what happened.

There was more I could do to the place, I could just say that I'd lost track of time. But I knew that I needed to face this specter hanging over me, and my dad said that he would be there on his lunch break today so I couldn't really back out on him. He was going to take a longer one to deal with this and had promised to take me to Fuglys after it was all said and done.

Against my will, keys were found, shoes were placed on feet, and a jacket was grabbed. It was windy in Brockton today, part of a mild storm that was approaching later in the week.

I did not look back as I left.

* * *

Our PRT leased apartment was just outside of the downtown area, where other several story buildings not given to offices or the higher-end apartments were. On one hand, its location was closer to dads work office, as the streets were faster to travel through down here, on the other, it meant more people.

I stuck to the stairs going up or down, even though our building was six stories. It was better for me to avoid people using the elevator.

On the flip side, it did help out with my semi-daily jogging exercise that the doctors recommended to help keep my mind off things. It also helped out with dad's worry, I was far less likely to get attacked this close to downtown. The cop cars were more common here, as were working lights.

A bit of wind tugged at me as I exited the building, shying away from an older woman entering as subtly as I could. The jacket was a good idea, hints of dark clouds were gathering over the distant ocean, visible only in-between the gaps of the tall buildings.

Here, unlike where my home was, the sidewalks were lacking in cracks every few feet. The street posts and lamps were unmarred by graffiti, only having the occasional sticker or remnants of a poster.

I didn't meet many people on my way towards the closest bus stop. I could walk the distance I needed to go, it wasn't that far compared to what I'd been slowly building up to over the last few weeks. But I didn't want the stress of worrying even more about my appearance to be added on top of the meeting as well.

There was a bit of a problem later on, however. Because it was so close to the lunch rush, there weren't many people around the building walking on the streets, so the issues began at the bus stop.

 _Because_ it was so close to the lunch rush, this meant that the stop had a cluster of people waiting, and I was almost hoping that the next bus was mostly full so that I didn't have to get on board with them.

I debated with myself for a moment, standing separate from the crowd, before moving closer. One or two of the persons there glanced over at me, likely wondering what I had stopped for, before turning back, uninterested.

It was a relief, and a showing that despite what my feelings were now for the PRT and Protectorate, that they had managed to keep my identity hidden.

After all, if the crowd knew that I was the girl responsible for destroying Winslow, then they would either be all over me, or run the other way.

With the PRTs help, dad managed to get me some pretty good hospital treatment, as well as a number of trips to a psychologist for therapy. Not that I really needed it, most of my memories of _That Day_ were blurred at the end, more dreamlike than anything else.

Though Mr. Rieper was cold as a fish in terms of a personality, he was very good at getting me to start moving on from what had happened at Winslow. Intimidating, blunt, and I considered him to be a psychopath at first until he brought up having to care for a daughter, he helped me get over the fact that Winslow was my fault.

No, wait, _Bad_ Taylor, it _wasn't_ my fault any more than if Clockblocker used his power on something in a street and someone ignored the signs warning them to stay back and ran their car into it. Winslow _wasn't_ my fault; the bullying _wasn't_ my fault; what happened there _wasn't_ on me.

… Maybe if I kept telling myself that, one day I would believe it.

My time in Brockton Bay had taught me much about the bus system and I'd used it to travel most of the city where it still ran, from the Docks, all the way to downtown and beyond. There were only two exceptions.

The first was the Dockyards proper. While the buses still traveled there, it was only at certain times of day or night. The second was to my current destination, Brockton Bays local PRT headquarters.

While the Protectorate Headquarters was visible out in the Bay, that was mostly a waypoint or staging ground for the Protectorate Heroes to have their own space; or to gather when leaving or entering the city. While it did have its own infrastructure and personal, it apparently was just a large workshop/break area/oversight point, a support center.

People like Assault, Battery, Armsmaster, and Velocity could deploy, take breaks, stand watch, or work on gear there far removed from the civilian eye. It also served as a place to keep them safe from villains or to hold them once captured. It was really just a show of force from the Protectorate that they were watching.

Most of the actual heroing started downtown, at the PRT Headquarters. There was were the PRT sent out Troopers, and where they oversaw the city during patrols. How I knew this stuff was only due to large amounts of free time researching things online and checking the PHO Boards.

To be honest, it was kind of obvious when you stopped to think about it ;the Rig was an _oil rig._ A remodeled one yes, but those things didn't really give much thought to living space, so it was really just for show. Plus, if the Protectorate really did wait there for something to happen outside their patrols, it was practically the furthest point away from the city, and anyone could see when someone was coming or going from it unless they flew.

It was a strange thing to be proud or in awe of really, the only reason the Rig was even put up was because the Bay had one of the highest ratios of capes per capita in the US, which meant that it was put up as a warning that the Protectorate wasn't going to let the villains take over. But if the villains hadn't moved in, the Protectorate wouldn't have needed to build it.

So basically one of the Bays best money makers in terms of sightseeing existed solely because the city was dangerous enough to warrant putting it there.

When my bus showed there weren't enough empty seats for us all, but that was somewhat normal, so I had to hold on to the upper rail for the trip. There were a few benefits to being tall, I guess, didn't change the fact that I didn't like being there in the first place.

Too many people around, too cramped.

The trip wasn't that long though, and there weren't any kids or crying babies on board, just normal people, some in suits, others in casual wear like me.

I filed out with those that shared my stop, lucky that I didn't have to change buses to get where to the PRT HQ was located, even if it did put me on the wrong side of the street and one block away. I joined a small crowd in waiting at the intersection, one of the youngest there I noted. Still, no one gave me a glance as we waited. Maybe they figured that with my height and skinny frame I was older than I looked.

One might expect the headquarters of the PRT to stand out, but it was the same as most of the surrounding buildings; all glass, only with the windows being barred and the PRT logo attached to the front; a shield with wings, containing the letters P.R.T.

There was a number of people entering and exiting the building, and I knew that tours happened often and that they had a gift shop, but it was still more than I expected. Did they work there? Would I pass by a member of the Protectorate and never know it? Or were they just PRT troopers and office workers, heading in and leaving from work?

The stress was building, but as the crosswalk let us go, I steeled myself. I couldn't back down here, I _needed_ to do this, needed to get closure, needed to…

" _Not going to run away here too, are you Kiddo?"_

… not trip over air and make anyone look at me in the middle of the street.

I keep my eyes forward, hands gripping into fist hard enough that I was sure that I would end up drawing blood from my palms. My eyes darted around as I kept moving, there wasn't anything in front of me, but I couldn't, _won't_ look behind me. That would be letting it _win,_ letting it know that he had gotten to me.

The glass on the building in front of me didn't have a good enough angle to see it, but when I got to the sidewalk it gave me a reason to glance around the area as I turned towards the PRT HQ.

My Doppelganger was sitting on the roof of a car waiting at the light, one leg kicking against the glass on the drivers' side window, the driver of course gave no sign that anything was wrong. It was leaning back, its hands holding onto its raised leg that was bent to sit onto the roof proper, head cocked, and eyes locked on mine. Despite the breeze, not a single black hair was shifted as it sat with a smile.

I would call it a _he,_ as the voice it spoke in sounded more male than anything, but it looked just like me, but I didn't want to call it a _she_ as then it was just one step to calling it a copy of _me._

Calling it an _it_ was better for my sanity.

It was the smile more than the eyes that really got to me. The golden glowing eyes were weird sure, but that smile… I couldn't remember when I had last smiled _anything_ like that.

The light changed to green, and the cars began to move down the street. With hair still unaffected by the movement, my not-really-there Double raised its hand up in a wave, its eyes never leaving mine.

" _Good luck! Though you won't need it!"_

I tracked it for a few moments as it was pulled away before turning away myself. I wasn't crazy, it was perfectly a normal reaction to be a little mentally unbalanced after what I been through, Dr. Rieper had said as much. Research into traumatic experiences had received a boost after it more or less revealed that they could cause Trigger events, so getting diagnosed with borderline PTSD was understandable.

Pity I didn't get the memories or flashbacks of the event, only the unease and a ghost me following me around at random times, saying things that made no sense.

This was one of the reasons I was biting the bullet here. I needed to move on, move forward from what happened. Dad was fully on board, not to say that he had taken days off work, I put an end to that after he tried staying at the hospital with me. There was only so much of overprotective father one could take on top of what I'd been told happened, but he was taking time to talk to me, help cook or go shopping.

Baby steps.

I could have waited, just kept hiding away, doing cape research and homework packets that the school district was sending me as part of the PRT deal that my dad worked out while I was in therapy.

But I managed dark days at Winslow, getting by even then, going to class even while looking over my shoulder practically every moment.

This wasn't going to stop me.

Those entering the lobby of the Brockton Bays local PRT HQ would find a strange juxtaposition at work. On the one hand, you would see the various employees in suits, hurrying in and out of the building, talking in groups about things involving capes in one way or another. Then you would likely spot the four PRT officers, stationed at different areas of the lobby. From what info the PRT gave out about their gear, they wore chain mesh and Kevlar vests, with fully concealing helmets. Each carried a weapon. The standard choice of weapon for the PRT was containment foam, designed by the Tinker Dragon; that alone could the typical parahuman. But some did carry other weapons, like grenade launchers, armed with ammo to fit a variety of threats.

In contrast to this, there was the gift shop that, during the proper hours, would no doubt be thick with youths, looking for the latest of cape action figures, posters, video games, and clothing. Four-foot tall pictures of the various Protectorate and Wards team members were placed at regular intervals around the lobby, each backed by bright colors.

There was a cheery tour guide waiting patiently by the front desk, smiling at anybody who happened to glance her way. I knew from looking it up that on a set schedule, she would introduce tourists, children, and the interested local to the PRT offices, armory, training area and the parking lot with the parahuman containment vans, maybe even catching a glimpse of Armsmasters bike, showing them everything it took to manage the local heroes.

Strangely, there was a line for the group of receptionists at the far end of the lobby, next to the waiting tour guide, some of them looked like everyday people, casual wear. I joined the back of the queue, behind a heavy-set man with a faded jacket. This seemed common enough, as the trio of receptionists were talking to the people in line at a turn, some even presented papers.

Time passed both quickly and not at all, I used it to people watch, wondering who each one entering or exiting was, what were they doing? Working? On what? What would the average day working at the PRT mean?

And all too soon, I was next.

My receptionist was somewhat young, it was hard to tell with her makeup. It was the type that I wished I could pull off, drawing attention to her face without covering everything up or seeming to be underwhelming. Her blue eyes glanced to me for a moment with a small smile, the kind that said that she was there, but not really _there,_ all the while clicking away at the keyboard in front of her.

"Yes, how can I help you?"

"… Taylor Hebert, I have an appointment?" I phrased it as a question, as I didn't really know if I did. They had said I could just show up and they would receive me, they didn't tell me if there was anything special I needed to do.

Maybe I needed to present ID? I was also worried that she knew the name, but there was no reaction to it.

Whatever my worries, the receptionist didn't share them. The typing paused for a minute as she did something to the computer in front of her. Tense several seconds followed, for me at least.

"Yes, I have you right here," I let a breath of relief go. "Let me just print you out a guest ID badge and call an officer to escort you up."

She didn't seem at that surprised really; were appointments common at the PRT?

"Does this happen often? People just showing up with an appointment?" I just couldn't help myself.

The receptionist gave a smile, better than the last one. "The PRT deals with more than just capturing villains, in a way, we're also like a special brand of cop. People sometimes show up to give testimonies or report something Parahuman related, it's common enough."

Which was to say that it didn't happen every day, nor would she know why I was here. Still, I took the offered badge with the best smile I felt I could muster.

It was probably more of a grimace from how I felt, she gave no reaction to that either, so I didn't know.

"If you could just wait for a moment by the elevators there," here, she pointed at a bank of said elevators past and to the sides of the counter. "An officer will be down shortly to guide you."

"Thanks." At this, she gave a more honest smile. If the PRT covered more than just grabbing villains, then she was like customer service.

I might have been one of the easiest people she'd deal with all day.

There were four elevators and not a seat nearby, so I was forced to stand. The PRT officer standing by the bank of elevators seemed to give me a glance, it was hard to tell with the helmet, before seemingly disregarding me. Conversation wasn't my forte, and I didn't want to disturb the guard, so I waited. Standing.

But not for as long as I thought I would.

One of the elevators dinged and opened up, revealing an unarmed PRT officer.

"Miss Hebert?" he asked as he stepped out. I nodded.

"This way please." With that he stepped to the side and gestured towards the open elevator, clearly wanting me to go first.

I stepped past him, hesitating only for a moment at the entryway, before stepping inside.

The doors shut with barely a whisper, and if it wasn't for the fact that the red numbers were moving on the screen over the door, I would have thought that we weren't moving. Tinker-Tech, clearly. At any other time I would have been all over it, Tinker tech was quite simply amazing at times, but now, here?

All I could think was _, 'are those containment foam sprayer nozzles embedded in the walls?'_

Several moments of silence passed, me unwilling to speak, and the PRT officer seemingly not wanting to, until the doors opened once more.

"Follow me, please."

The way the officer phrased the request stated that it really wasn't a request.

We stepped into a generic lobby space, an empty receptionist desk in front of us. The officer swiftly moved forward, bypassing the desk and holding a door open for me. Beyond was another blank hallway, doors lining either side up and down it at steady intervals. I noticed that none of them had labels on them besides a number, but my guide seemed to know his way.

Room five, right-hand side of the hall. Inside was an interrogation room, and I meant that literally. Everything about it, from the camera mounted in the corner, the glass lining one wall, even to the placement of the chairs and table, right in the middle of the room, fit every TV show and movie that showed one to a tee.

The only reason I didn't back straight out was the fact that the chairs were padded, the table made of wood, and the walls were painted a soft blue color.

"I know, that's everyone's first reaction," the PRT officer said to me, chuckling, clearly having spotted my panic. "One way to lower construction costs, use the same floor plan and rooms over and over again. It's fine, the doors handle is cheap too, it doesn't even have a lock and the door itself is made of wood. You're not in trouble kid, I wouldn't be unarmed if you were."

The rattling of the ten-dollar doorknob and the hollow-sounding echo of wood against fist did wonders for my nerves.

"Might have warned me first," I spat back. He only chuckled more.

"It relaxed you didn't? I could feel you winding up downstairs."

… as much as I hated to admit it, but he was right. The breath that left my body following his explanation had loosened my shoulders up, and I noticed now that he and I were almost the same height. Before he and the other troopers had seemed so tall, had I really been curling up on myself that much?

"The agent will be with you shortly," the jerk told me when he finished chuckling. "Can I get you some water?"

I shook my head no. Was this really a member of the Protectorate Response Team? What was next, a hole in my cup so that when I drank it spilled into my lap? I had dealt with enough of that at school, _thank you very much._

"Well then, no hard feelings Ms. Hebert, and please stay in the room for now. Restrooms are further down the hall if you need them but try not to wander. It should be just a few more minutes."

And with that, the officer closed the door, leaving me.

Alone.

In what amounted to an interrogation room after I singlehandedly destroyed Winslow High, causing many injuries and several deaths.

… well, I did want to get this all over with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Taylor didn't know about Trigger events, but the way Purity just found a researcher in Harvard talking about government and private researches like it was nothing. So this could just be a mistake on Wildbows part as some pointed out (or just a reason to have the info provided to the readers, as it didn't seem like something everyone knew about unless you actually went looking for it).   
> On the other hand, Taylor kinda had her hands full, she needed to make her costume, survive at school, do what homework she could, and prepare for her step into the world of capes; and even before she Triggered, it was unlikely the average person would just go looking for that info about Triggers, as it's not something that most people would really need in their day-to-day lives, so it's understandable that she didn't know about it.   
> So it is likely that she never looked at what made a cape, prioritizing just capes and what she needed to know about being one in general after she Triggered and started making plans.  
> But here, she had a lot more free time, so… yeah, more cape research for her.   
> Also, for the record, there is going to be five more arcs before things really start to Take Off.  
> … which means that I’m somewhat following Warframes own model of having a five-year tutorial.  
> Firewalker after this (plans are made), then Redirection (plans are foiled and captured), then Battering Maneuver (people are killed/almost killed and a mongoose is let loose), then Calculated Spring (which is just a bunch of interludes really), then…  
> Continuity (Water, and lots of it).   
> After that the Worm plot gets kicked in the face with a pink Rhino with Titania animations.


	9. 2.2 Rolling Guard

“Sorry about that.”

The man speaking was older, hair both starting to recede and mostly grey on the sides. He had laugh lines and a nice smile, other than that he was utterly normal. Long-sleeved white button-up shirt, khaki pants, and a simple watch; he looked the part of a suit-wearing office worker that was on break. There wasn’t even anything marking him as belonging to the PRT, other than the folder he carried which had the logo.

As he entered he glanced around the room, letting the door shut behind him.

“Has your father not arrived yet?” he asked. “Or are you going this alone? It’s fine if you are, this is all mostly just a formality.”

“He’s on his way,” I replied. “But he’s coming from the Docks, so, traffic.”

“Ah,” the man said, moving to the seat across from me. “Just so you know, if he fails to show in the next,” he paused to look at his watch. “Thirty minutes, we’ll have to reschedule. But for now, there are some questions that I need to ask. Oh, so sorry,” he extended his hand for me to shake. “I haven’t introduced myself. Agent Todd, I’m the one assigned to your case at this juncture.”

I took his hand in mine reflexivity, and replied with an, “It’s ok, I’m Taylor,” before stopping to think.

“Hold on, shouldn’t my father be here for this? Or should I have brought a lawyer?”

“Not unless you want him to be or think you’ll need one,” Todd replied, opening his folder up. “Most of these questions I have for you right now are just confirmation questions, we can have him go back over them after if you want, but its mostly things like making sure we got your name spelled right. We’ll cover everything else after he arrives, as you’re underage and need a guardian for legal reasons.”

There were several moments were Agent Todd shuffled papers, taking them out of the folder and setting them into piles, some he even stacked onto each other, setting them on ninety-degree angles from the ones underneath.

“Ah, here we go, please check this and make sure all the information on it is correct.”

The paper Agent Todd slid to me was basically one of those forms that schools or governments would have. It listed my name, my address, who I was related to, my date of birth, and whatnot. I was actually somewhat disturbed that the PRT had all this info on me, I know that they knew who I was because of Winslow, but seeing it was something else.

I past the paper back to Agent Todd. “It’s all right.”

He nodded. “Good, now there are several questions I need to ask, then you can sign a form saying all the paperwork is in order, as well as covering my questions, your father will need to sign it as well. I can provide a copy to you both if needed. Any questions?”

At my continued silence, Agent Todd glanced down at his piles of paperwork and fished a pen of out his pocket.

“So, at any time stop me if you have a question or something to correct, if not you can simply sit there and nod if you wish. We’ll do the actual ‘for the record,’ thing when your father gets here.”

“You have reviewed the info provided and have declared it is accurate, do you have anything else to declare at this time?” Agent Todd asked.

“What would that be?”

“Mostly if something new happened, if you had decided to move away from Brockton Bay for example; if you had decided to take any legal actions that would affect the PRT or those associated with the organization, if you have committed any crimes recently, that sort of thing.”

“No.”

“Good, is they anything you wish to discuss without a parent or guardian present?”

“No.”

“Good, now, final question and this one needs honesty. How are you?”

That took me off guard, and the agent smiled kindly.

“I find it’s not a question asked often enough after these events, plus most people don’t actually answer with the truth, simply saying they’re fine.”

… considering that my reflex response was going to be ‘fine,’ I could understand. But as to how I _felt_ …

I really didn’t know.

And it was the truth. Just a few months ago my biggest worry was what the Trio was going to do next, now I didn’t _have_ school, and my dad was taking more time out of his day to talk to me. But I was conscious of the cost.

Winslow was gone, at least in terms of it being a school; getting unmelting ice embedded into places tends to make it difficult to keep things functioning. Dozens of people were displaced from what had happened, as their homes were now in the quarantine zone around the school.

“… Dealing, I’m dealing. Going day by day.”

“Yes, that’s the least we can do at our worst.” The smile Todd sported spoke of understanding. “But it is the knowledge that things can…”

Todd was cut off as the door opened again, this time admitting a young stern-faced woman with her black hair in a ponytail.

“Michaels, I trust you haven’t done anything illegal?”

“No Jess,” said Todd. “Just going over the preliminaries.”

Jess gave Todd a glance, before turning to me. She, unlike her counterpart, was dressed in full business attire, a complete suit and tie with a professional skirt, not black, more of a blueish hue.

“I trust that Michaels has been treating you properly Miss Hebert?” she asked, to which I nodded.

“Good, I’m Jessica Lawson, while Mr. Michaels here handles _you_ , I handle the legal paperwork and all that that entails.”

Jessica’s steps were swift and precise as she made her way to an open chair next to Todd. “I was told by David that your father just arrived, he should be bringing him up as we speak.”

“I hope that he warns him of what he’s walking into,” I say without thinking. “I almost thought I’d been arrested.”

Todd’s bark of laughter startled me, as well relieved me from my word vomit.

“They didn’t really think things through when they built these rooms, did they? Ah yes, of course David would just walk you in here all serious. He does like to keep things light, remarkable considering he lost both legs from the knee down to Hookwolf six weeks ago. Panacea hasn’t gotten around to healing him yet; she has a long list.”

Great, now I felt bad for thinking him a jerk.

And then the silence was back, only broken by Jessica leafing through several sheets of paper, at least until the door opened once more, by the PRT trooper, David, unless someone else had taken over. Behind him was my father.

Dad looked the part of an accountant, rather than the hiring manager of burly dock workers; beanpole thin, weak chin and big eyes magnified by his glasses. I had gotten several things from him in terms of appearance, the eyes, the figure. Unlike him though, my glasses didn’t make me look bewildered, but that could have been just the situation.

“Taylor?” he asked warily.

“It’s alright Mr. Hebert, it’s just a low-cost room,” Jessica said as she stood back up. “David, I trust that you didn’t pull another one of your jokes?”

“No Ma’am,” came the quick reply.

“Good, back to your job then with you.” David gave a crisp salute and about-faced, leaving the room.

“My apologies for the PRT officer Mr. Hebert, I’m Jessica Lawson,” Jessica said as she offered her hand to my father. “I’ll be covering the legal paperwork aspects of things.”

What followed was a quick set of introductions, with several cases of, ‘Please, call me [insert first name here].’ When it was all said and done however, we settled down and began to hash out the reason that we were all here.

Me.

“Here is a list and a copy of all the paperwork that we’ll be going over at this time,” Jessica began, handing several stacks to my father. “This one is just a form saying that _this_ one here is all accurate, Taylor has already viewed it and confirmed it as accurate, but it needs both of your signatures to be finalized.”

My father viewed each in turn, looking at them as only a veteran of the legal process of paperwork could.

“Next involves the discussion of the actual event caused by Taylor's power, for the record, and I need to start recording per PRT policies,” Todd said, pulling a small recorder out of his pocket. “If you wish to skip this part, let me know now, and I’ll add it in later.”

At this, I stiffened. Not so much at the talk of my Trigger event, but at the fact that I would finally get the details of what happened at Winslow after the fact.

While I had been told what had occurred to the school itself, and what had happened to make me Trigger in the hospital after I’d woken up, no one told me what happened to the students in the building.

My voice was thick when I next spoke. “I’ll like to hear it.”

Dad took my hand into his on the table.

“Taylor, the people that wrote these rules based them upon criminal protocols, adjusted to the minimum to allow wiggle room for cape identities and the strangeness of powers,” Jessica pointed out. “You under no obligation to listen to…”

“I want to know.”

The group of adults in the room all looked at each other, something like concern dancing in their eyes.

They didn’t know, they didn’t understand, I had no real memories of what happened, only glimpses and half-formed ideas from what I was told after the fact.

They wouldn’t even let me go and _see_ the school.

Agent Todd took a breath, and I was suspicious that maybe his casual nature had been an attempt to keep me calm, and then he began to speak, reading off a file, first reading off who was in the room and what we were doing. I didn’t really listen, focusing on my dads’ hand in mine as I waited.

Until he got to the part I wanted to hear.

“On Wednesday the 2nd, 2011, you, Taylor Hebert, were shut into your locker, which had been filed with what has been reported as Human-biowaste, specifically, old used tampons and pads. After you’d…”

The door opened, and Armsmaster slipped in to stand against the wall, as only an man wearing blue power-armor with silver highlights could do.

We all stared. The hero on the other hand simply nodded his head and said, “Apologies, ignore me. Continue.”

This wasn’t my first time meeting the hero, not even the second. But it followed the trend of him showing up randomly where I was.

Todd glanced at Jessica, who shrugged, then he cleared his throat.

“Addendum, Armsmaster has joined us, but seems to be in a viewing capacity. Continuing from before, after being locked into the locker, Taylor Hebert Triggered. Following this, Winslow High School has become completely inhabitable by what the PRT are calling, an ‘ice-tree.’ Summary of the tree effects are as follows.”

“Despite being classified as ice, the material has a hardness greater than steel, likely due to the unknown energy that runs through the material. Close contact causes no ill effects to standard non-organic materials. However, more advanced objects experience sub-atomic ‘breakage,’ as recorded by Armsmaster's after-action report.”

I glanced at the hero in the room. His armor had been damaged? Armsmaster’s whole image and skills were built atop his armor. Depending on how bad it was, he might have repaired the whole thing, as Todd didn’t say how bad the ‘sub-atomic effects’ were.

Which _sounded_ bad just with the atomic part. Those were the basic building blocks of _everything_ ; if my power caused those things to break apart…

“Another aspect of the tree is its yet undecided Master/Stranger Striker/Changer effect. This effect causes those that come into prolonged close contact with the tree to experience high mental stress, inducing possible insanity and/or hallucinations of oneself which, according to the reports, forces self-reflection upon the victim while under the trees influence. Testing has been inconclusive in replicating this effect, however, as the only subjects that could have confirmed this effect were the students trapped in Winslow, of which most had not reported seeing anything or have been committed to the PRT clinic commissioned just outside the city limits for PTSD. None of the other members of the rescue teams had reported seeing anything, however, calling into question the validity of this effect.”

“The other half of this aspect includes altering various random parts of their bodies in such a way that the Healer Panacea cannot interact with the victims to repair the damage done, which may be linked to the recorded sub-atomic breakage effects previously record, seemingly similar to radiation, yet none have been recorded at the site.”

Agent Todd paused and licked his lips. “Now, given the Protectorate Response Teams complacency in the Triggering of one Taylor Hebert, the organization has…”

“Through actions done by one Sophia Hess, aka Shadow Stalker,” Armsmaster chimed in. the PRT officials looked shocked at the heros words.

At our first meeting, Armsmaster launched into an apology, stating that he was at fault for what had happened to me, telling me that Sophia, _bullying_ Sophia, turning my old friend against me _Sophia_ , practically attacking and nearly _killing me_ Sophia, was actually a Ward.

Shadow Stalker.

He did this all with my father present, who flipped out in seconds and actually caused the hero to run from the room in what I could only guess was fear.

My dad didn’t look like much, but his anger, when it managed to boil over, was something that I was sure would scare even an Endbringer away.

The second time was to tell me about what was being done with Sophia and how the PRT was going to provide temporary housing for us, at least until they were sure that my name hadn’t been leaked to the press about me being the one that Triggered.

I didn’t know what to make of the hero back then, he came off as blunt and to the point, and now?

I had a feeling that I wasn’t the only one very confused by his actions.

“Yes, well,” Todd coughed. “That is accurate.”

Armsmaster only nodded, seemingly impervious to the glare being sent his way by Jessica. Though with only the bottom half of his face showing, I had no idea what he was thinking.

“Continuing, the PRT has provided a safe home for Taylor Hebert and her father until enough time has passed as to attain if her identity had been made to the public. This meeting is occurring to go over the details of the event and what happens next involving Taylors family and life, any questions?”

“How many?” I asked.

“I’m sorry?” Agent Todd asked.

“How many were injured or died because of me?”

Agent Todd looked stricken, as did my dad and Jessica for that matter. Only Armsmaster looked unaffected, so it seemed fitting that he replied.

“Of all the students present, one hundred and thirty-seven died as a direct result of your power flowing through the school. Fifty-six died during the evacuation due to the rapidly closing spaces and panic. Another six died by PRT hands or other factors caused by the mental effects from exposure to your power, that brings the total to one-hundred and ninety-nine deaths.”

It was like a punch to the gut, and my father tightened his grip on my hand.

_One-hundred and ninety-nine deaths._

Dad tried to get me into a hug, but I think I was crushing his hand, so he had to awkwardly lift his connected arm over my head so that I was hugging myself, while he wrapped his other arm around my front.

_One-hundred and ninety-nine deaths._

Those deaths were on _me,_ no matter what anyone said. It was my Power that overtook the school, _mine_. I may not have _caused_ them to happen, but it was still by _my_ hand that it happened. Or by my power, whatever.

“Easy Taylor,” my dad said soothingly. “Easy.” He may or may not have been rocking me.

I didn’t know if it was only a few minutes or a few seconds, it was had to tell when I was dealing with the fact that was responsible for nearly _two-hundred deaths._

_Two-hundred lives gone and never coming back._

“… if you wish to take a break,” Todd began after a time.

“No, I… I’m, not okay,” I began, still holding on to my dad like a lifeline. “But… I can continue.”

Agent Todd glanced at Jessica, who nodded back to him.

“Ok then. For the record, the PRT is also providing additional assistance to Taylor in terms of monetary compensation, medical assistance, as well as fast-tracking her to a new school. These are similar to other sets of assistance the PRT is giving to the victims of the Winslow event, at least those not under psychiatric care. The PRT will also assist in getting Taylor into school by arranging her placement tests.”

“This, however, is not conditional on Taylor deciding to go to Arcadia,” Armsmaster pointed out. “If you wish to go to another school, that can be arranged as well.”

Both of the PRT personal looked at the hero in shock, and I had a feeling that what he had just said wasn’t in the program.

“The Wards go to Arcadia,” my dad pointed out sharply. “Did you plan on having them watch her?”

“While that would be a befit for the PRT because of the lack of knowledge about her powers,” Armsmaster pointed out. “The main reason she would be sent to Arcadia would be for her grades before the bullying. They were high enough that, given the circumstances, her time at Winslow could be overlooked, provided that she does relatively well at her placement tests.”

That made sense. The PRT had seen what I could do at my worst – two _hundred_ \- even if it wasn’t consciously done, they likely didn’t want a repeat, so fitting me in at the same school as the Wards worked for everyone, if you discounted the fact I would/could be watched.

Not that Arcadia was a bad school, compared to Winslow at least. Their policies meant that I won’t have to worry about bullying, but it also meant a new school, new people to meet, including the people that might have gone to Winslow as well if they managed to get in.

As for them watching me, Armsmaster had mentioned power testing during our second meeting, and if the PRT didn’t know what I could do…

“Speaking of the Wards,” Todd cut in. “If you wish no…”

“No.”

Agent Todd was taken aback by my forcefulness. “The Wards program…”

“ _No._ ”

“With your powers untested, you may not know their full effects…”

“I won’t use them.”

 _That_ drew looks; enough so that I felt the need to explain myself.

“I’ve _killed_ people with them,” I pointed out, feeling sick. “Destroyed my school and made the city panic. All I _want,_ is to move on from all of it. No more bullying, no more having to look over my shoulder for the next hit. I’ll go to Acadia, I’ve heard it’s a good school, but I don’t want to be pressured into using something I never wanted. I’ve had enough misery and stress, now all I want is to just live a normal life.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hr][/hr]  
> A/N: Ah Taylor, don’t tell me you think it's going to be that easy?  
> Static  
> DID YOU REALLY BELIEVE (smacks) Get off this transmission Vay Hek, your voice is annoying.  
> But this, this is the reason why it’s going to be until the end of Firewalker that we’re not going to see Taylors power in any type of action.   
> This isn’t the freshly Triggered Taylor, the one that uses her powers to escape what’s happening in her life, this is a Taylor that got her powers and then was thrown into a fight like the one with Bakuda. She didn’t have time to adjust, to adapt to what was happening, and now the opportunity is there for her to escape another way and she’s taking it with both hands because hell no.  
> She doesn't have her bugs to back her up, she doesn't have the Undersiders to fall back on, and she has no plans forming because of those two facts. Like any normal human, something happened that's terrible to her and she wants out and away.  
> She wants normal.  
> That’s not to say that all the other things that happened without Taylor even needing to be around to happen will not happen. They will, just differently.  
> Also, I’m cross-posting this over on Spacebattles (and now at Ao3), it’s under the same name. Nothing is different over there than what is happening here, but there is an bigger summary (of sorts)  
> Also also, this isn’t exactly the best… ‘interview,’ but it kinda fits what is happening, and the PRT in general.


	10. 2.3 Rolling Guard

Agent Todd didn’t look happy, neither did Jessica for that matter. Armsmaster, on the other hand, looked somewhat… pleased, if that hint of a smile was anything to go by. About what I had no idea, but it drew an angry look from Jessica when she noticed it.

I was just happy that all that time spent practicing that little speech in front of a mirror had paid off. Look, I wasn’t even shaking this time!

“Well, that’s understandable,” said Todd, looking down at his piles of paperwork. “In that case, let me just change somethings out here…”

While the Agent worked on moving things around, Jessica took the stage.

“There are some things you should know if you go down this path,” she began. “First, you will still receive a stipend if you sign up with the PRT.”

I opened my mouth to correct her.

She held up a hand to forestall me. “Let me finish. If you do not wish to partake in Cape affairs, nor go your own path as an Independent, then you get labeled as a Rogue. By signing up with the PRT you are saying that you are not going to use your powers for any illegal activities and are just telling us that you have them; this in effect is like owning a gun, you can have it, but you need to tell certain people about it to avoid any issues about you having it. However, if you decide to use your powers for hero work later on, you can get your status changed to an Independent and will receive more support. As a Rogue, you are still granted certain rights and privileges, which varies per region.”

“In Brockton Bay,” Armsmaster cut in. “That includes a small stipend and a limited healthcare system. If you wished to use your powers for personal monetary gain, then the PRT will assist in basic paperwork, getting you off the ground so to speak. Of course, all of this comes with the caveat that you stay out of trouble and that your power is safe to use for whatever you plan to use it for.”

“Yes, that is correct,” Jessica continued through gritted teeth. At this point, I figured that Armsmaster, for whatever reason, was on my side, something that I didn’t know how to take. My dad apparently didn’t know either, but he was looking over at the hero with a suspicious eye.

“Other than that, however, you are basically alone. You will receive no additional support from the PRT, and getting a day job to support yourself is up to you,” Todd finished.

It was a different set of paperwork that the Agent handed us, much smaller than the stack he had in front of him before. In it was basically what they had just told us, about being a Rogue meant no fighting either side or supporting them, I’d get some money in exchange for keeping out of trouble, and some healthcare if I got hurt using my powers for (nearly) whatever reason. There was however a stipulation.

“That won’t affect her,” Armsmaster said after dad brought it up. “That clause is in place mostly because of Tinkers. In case the powers or creations of a cape had an unknown effect or ability of that was discovered later. It’s for uses against S-Class Threats, like the Endbringers. I can think of only three times that it has been put into effect, and that included the reason it was formed.”

The clause in question boiled down to this; if the Rogue in question found a new aspect of their power that required new testing for its effects, the PRT reserved the right to co-opt the ‘aspect,’ for use against threats to public safety. But only if it was deemed safe enough to use against said threat and as long as there was a court order from either a local judge or the Supreme Court. An international one could work too if the cape in question was part of something like the Guild, Legion or Sentinel.

Basically, it meant that if a Tinker made a device that stopped everything from moving in its range, the PRT would use it to lock down an Endbringer, even if it meant taking it from the Tinker in question.

On the other hand, it could work in the other way; a Tinker could build something, and the PRT could take it, citing this clause and saying that they're holding onto it, ‘just in case.’

It didn’t really apply to other types of cape powers in largely the same way because other power came from the cape themselves, it could be too risky for a just one-time deal; which explained why someone like Clockblocker wasn’t all over the news from using his power to freeze an Endbringer. Getting close enough to touch one was just too dangerous.

“If at any time you wish to change your status, all it takes is an upgraded form and further power testing at any PRT facility,” Todd added.

“But if you wish to test your powers in a safe environment, the PRT facilities are open to you,” Armsmaster pointed out with a look toward the members of the PRT. “Regardless of whether or not you join the Wards or sign no further than a Rogue.”

At this point my father was engrossed into the world of legal paperwork, passing one every now and again for me to sign. There were some questions he asked for clarification, but other than that we were mostly done.

While Todd and Jessica finished looking over what was given back to them, checking each other’s work, Armsmaster stepped forward to the table.

“Miss Hebert,” he said with a nod, then handed me a card, two of them actually. “Just in case you have questions more about Capes than the legal side, Dragon and myself are available. She also expressed some interest in learning more about your power, but will understand if you don’t wish to talk about it.”

I was taken aback. One, if not two, of the greatest Tinkers gave me their number. More accurately, their e-mails and PHO account names. Neither seemed to have a phone number on their card; whether that was just to keep things professional or a lack of a personal one, I didn’t know.

Todd seemed really confused at this point, while Jessica’s face had soured. I felt like I was missing something. The PRT has been subtly pushing me towards the Wards with every meeting, but Armsmaster, one of the poster heroes for the Protectorate, and by extension, the Wards, _wasn’t._

While I could understand if they had different opinions, common sense would dictate that you wouldn’t let people know about that. Especially if you’re trying to recruit someone into your ranks.

Unless Armsmaster didn’t _want_ me in the Wards, but that didn’t fit his actions. He was blunt and straightforward the times I meet him before, and he was still helpful in providing info that the PRT members were giving.

Maybe he had figured out that with what happened, that I didn’t want anything to do with powers?

I really didn’t know what was going on at this point between them all, and I just wanted this to be done already.

As my dad handed back the final papers, both Agents looked them over and nodded.

“Everything seems to be in order,” said Todd. “Just one last thing.”

“Or two, as the case may be,” Jessica said. “NDAs.”

Two pieces of paper were slid in front of us both, and a stack was joined beside them; then Jessica touched the top of one of the single papers.

“This one here is the Non-Disclosure Agreement pertaining to the PRT and our agreements. It states that you will not disclose the information given to you in this room, nor will you disclose the full details of Winslow without express permission or will face extreme legal repercussions. This stack is the agreements in full, to be given over to the US government for records. A copy can be made available to you if you wish.”

“And the second?” my father asked.

Jessica tapped the other paper with a finger. “That is an NDA for protecting Shadow Stalker's identity and records. At this point I’d also like you to confirm the details and the declaration about your treatment at her hand, or a provide testimony if you’re willing to give it.”

“You want us to protect her!?” my dad half-shouted. “After _everything_ _she did to my daughter?!”_

“Sophia Hess has already been sent to juvie,” Armsmaster interjected on behalf of the PRT workers. “The NDA is to protect her family. If it was discovered that she was a Ward, it is possible that they could face retaliation from criminal elements.”

“I’ll sign it.”

My father cut off from what would no doubt be an argument. Everyone looked at me sharply, and I wilted from the attention.

“This… I …” I had to take a breath. How could I explain this?

“… I don’t care about her anymore,” I managed to get out. “She _can’t_ … she’s gone, I never have to see her again, never deal with her again, that’s good. I don’t _care_ about what happens to her, I don’t care about her at _all_ really. From the moment I’d meet her, she attacked me, turned my friend against me, and did everything in her power to make my life hell.”

“But I’ll sign the NDA, because her family shouldn’t suffer from her mistakes.”

I didn’t know who Sophia's family was, what type of people they were. Were they responsible for who she was? Was it learned behavior? Or was it a byproduct? Was she pushing her shitty life on to others?

Or, the one that I believed was most accurate, was she doing it for the kicks?

My dad sat back down in his chair. His hand found mine and gripped it tight.

Papers were passed around; a pen found its way into my hand. A few exrta questions were asked about what she did to me; about when it started, who helped her, how often did she steal/destroy my homework/classwork.

And I answered them as best as I could, signing away at a form which detailed the same things I talked about, only in legal terms for the courts to tuck away as part of their, ‘fact-checking/confirmation’ of what the former Ward did to me as per the legal system. Though I was told that it would mostly serve as a legal record because she was already _in_ juvie.

After that, Armsmaster slipped away as quietly as he entered.

* * *

Dad had parked his truck around the block. We had to wait for a few minutes before he could pull out into the street because of downtown traffic.

Traffic was… normal, steady for the day and the direction we were heading. It would get slightly worse as we got closer to the boardwalk and Fugly Bobs. Still, dad's truck meandered on, keeping up with the current flow of cars.

Between us lay the copies of the paperwork the PRT provided, held together by a folder and staples. The time after finishing up said paperwork was subdued, largely due to the fact that just minutes before they had covered the range of my bullying and the state Armsmaster found me in.

All in front of dad.

I hadn’t told him about the bullying, not really, nor had I said who was doing it. All he knew was that I was having trouble. I… didn’t know how he was taking it.

Emma was once my best friend, and to find out that she had been one of the ones to put me into the locker?

And that wasn’t even going into the issues with what had happened to the school, or the fact that not only did he not know about it, but the fact that he _missed_ it, that he saw me _every day_ and knew _nothing_ of what was happening.

… most of that was on me, I… I didn’t really tell him anything. After mom had died, we both kinda just, fell apart. Dad wasn’t really there for a while before he bounced back. Somewhat. And I was on the same path, until Sophia came into the picture.

As for Emma? I didn’t really know what to think about Emma anymore. She tossed everything we shared aside, hunted me down just to belittle me, used every dark secret I had against me, and yet it sounded like she was just as messed up as I was when mom died, maybe even worse.

They had told me, more like her dad Alan had told me, the story of how they’d first encountered Shadow Stalker, the assault on their lives, how it broke Emma until Sophia showed up.

I didn’t know how to feel about that, part of me, long-buried, was stubbornly pointing out that she’d been taken advantage of, that my friend would have never done those things she did normally. Another part, the one that had helped me survive, was saying that she got what was coming to her. Yet another part asked if it really mattered, if her being sent to the PRT mental clinic fixed things. If what had happened made it all better, if it was _justified_. A small part just asked if anything would change with this, if I _could_ recover from it all.

Another pointed out that some of it was my fault, I’d been her friend too after all. Why didn’t I push for questions harder? Go to her _house_ , talk to her _family_ about what was going on?

_‘Always look at both sides of the story Little Owl; if a man steals to feed his family, does that make him evil?’_

Being an English College Professor, my mom had brought a love of literature into my life. By the time I was ten, she had gifted me books like The Hobbit, The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, a few things by Stephen King, books by C. S. Lewis, even a few classics like Treasure Island, or the Count of Monte Cristo. A bit of friction had formed between my parents over some of it; some of what King wrote wasn’t exactly suitable for a preteen.

I remembered her telling him that she was letting me read the books not to scare me or because she didn’t care, but so I could see things differently, so that I understand the power of words and actions. I was holding a part of history she had said, a whole different world lay within my hands, lessons to be learned and dreams to be lived. Everything and everyone could be a story, and with a book, everyone could dream of what it was like to live in those worlds.

It wasn’t _just_ about the story, but the _experiences_ that reading them gave me.

She didn’t let me read things like It or Carrie until I was older though.

Dad got over it, somewhat. Mom could to that to someone. I could remember the three of us, plus Emma, all huddled up in the living room, dad reading a _Goosebumps_ book out loud after my twelfth birthday. He’d been the one to buy it, and I still had the boxed set in my room.

… I hadn’t read anything but a school book in a while. Dad wasn’t the only one that fell apart after her death.

What happened with Emma, happened, and I couldn’t change it now, no matter how hard I looked at it or wanted to. I could only move on.

That was when I noticed that we’d stopped.

We parked were on a side street, outside of downtown, but not in the Dock/Boardwalk area proper. One of the intermittent areas, the kind that had the somewhat rundown tourist shops and hotels scattered in it, the place that still saw enough cape and police activity for it to be ‘safe,’ but not a place you wanted to be in late at night.

“… Why didn’t you tell me?” dad asked softly.

I stared at my dad, him clutching the steering wheel with white knuckles, the grip hard enough to make the leather creak.

“Why didn’t you tell me?! Why did you just let that _happen to you?!_ ”

I could count on one hand the number of times my dad had raised his voice in anger; the number was even less for when it was directed at _me._

“I tried,” I defended. “The teachers couldn’t do anything, or didn’t believe me. I tried to get them to stop, to stay away from them, but nothing worked. And it… it was _Emma_ dad, she was my best friend and she knew all my _secrets_ and she just _betrayed_ all of it but she was _hurting_ and I never _noticed_ it and you were distant and hurting but so was I but I didn’t want to worry you more because that wasn’t fair to you because you are my dad and I didn’t want you to know and be angry with me and…”

I had to stop, to _breathe._

“Taylor...” my dad began, extending an arm out to me.

I recoiled on _reflex_ , pulling myself back into the truck door, memories overriding actions, and dad.

Just.

_Broke._

The look on his face cut deeper then anything Emma had ever said, like the sight of his actions was catching up to him, and _how_ could I _react_ to _him_ of all _people_ like _that_.

He was all I had left; _we_ were all we had left.

This time, when his arms went out, it was to engulf me into a crushing hug that I threw myself into.

One of his hands was in my hair, the folder between us sliding to the floor.

There was no crying, but there were _tears_. How long had it been since my dad had given me a hug, a _real_ one?

I wanted to cry, to _bawl,_ but I was… _fragmented._ Everything was happening so _fast._ The Locker, waking up in the hospital, Armsmaster telling me about Sophia and Emma. _Alan_ telling me about Emma and Sophia. Getting three weeks of psychiatric treatment on the PRTs tab. Another two to recover at a PRT provided home, the meeting, then _this._

I had been functioning day-to-day for so long that now I _didn’t know what to do._

“I don’t trust them dad,” I watery said, blinking back tears. “I _get_ that they said that what happened did because somethings fell through the cracks, that they can’t watch people _twenty-four-seven_ , that they trusted the wrong people to do their jobs. But I was the one that _suffered for it._ ”

“The school put more value on Sophia and her Ward status than the one she was torturing, and PRT just did everything it could do hide what happened. I can’t let them get control over me like that, not again. I’m _scared_ dad.”

“I know that you thought the Ward would be a good place for me to figure out my powers, but I _can’t._ I _can’t_. I don’t want anything to do with them, if I could get rid of them I would but…”

_I was stuck with them._

That’s what it boiled down to, they were my powers now, and I would have to live with that. Maybe in time I would use them, try to figure out they could do, but now? Now I just wanted things to be like they were before. Before mom died. Before our lives just fell apart.

Mom had said that life was a story, one that had a place for everyone, all interconnected. When one chapter ended, another began, threads still linking to the two, even if what they had connected to were gone.

In a way, this was still part of my moms’ own story, her effect still felt on our lives, her story still continuing, like how Bilbo Baggins story ended, but his legend was finished with Frodo. Her actions, her decisions, her very presence, echoing down into me and my fathers own actions and feelings, in what we ate, the things we enjoyed.

Now, some of that was tainted by her absence, forming the echos of what remained of her story.

All of this formed into a new story, one which the foundations were laid into place by her, my dad’s story, _my_ story.

Course… all of this just made me miss her more, and I wished that hers didn’t have to end so soon into mine.

Dad was rocking me slightly, bring up memories of times long ago. His voice was anchoring me, helping me pull back together the pieces that I had dropped.

“… I worry because that’s my _job_ Taylor.” said dad. “Even decades from now I will still worry about you. You shouldn’t have needed to go this alone, and yes, I _am_ angry, but not with you, _never_ with you. I’m just… I feel I failed you, lord knows your mother would kick my ass over this. she would never let me forget it, but she would still help me all the same. She would be better at it though.”

“I’m ashamed to say that I nearly lost you both when she died; _Alan_ was the one that talked some sense into me, which despite what’s happened I’ll always be thankful to him for. Losing you would mean losing the last of Annette I have left. You’re the best of us both Taylor, your mother and me, I see a little of her in you every day.”

That brought fresh tears, and I held on a little tighter.

And it also brought up regret and shame, not just about what I did to dad, but about the other kids, the ones that were afflicted by more power. What about them? Was it right that I could just walk away from it all? Or _should_ I have been punished for what happened?

“… never do something like this again Taylor,” dad said, interrupting my downward spiral of thoughts. “I’m here for you, always. You don’t need to stand alone.”

He let me out of the hug, only to hold me at arms’ length.

“Here what we’re going to do ok? First, we’re going to Fugly Bobs.” I let a watery laugh out. “I said I would take you. After that, we’ll talk some more, about school, about… something. I’m here now, I’m here for you. You don’t need to keep secrets from me; in fact, no more secrets, from either of us, ok?”

I nodded. “Ok.”

Dad smiled, something I hadn’t seen for a while. “After that, we get back to _our_ home, the one we live in. Then… we’ll do something together, bridge this gap between us.” He gestured at the space between us. “Ok?”

“Ok.”

“Good.” He sighed. “Better?”

I managed a bit of a smile. “… getting there.”

“Ok, off to Fuglys then, unless you want something different?”

I shook my head. “Fuglys is fine dad.”

He nodded back and let go of me, turning back to the wheel, but he kept one hand holding onto mine. “… She’d be much better at this than me.”

… he was right, mom was better at dealing with the emotional sides of things. Not that dad couldn’t manage, but mom always seemed to know _exactly_ what to say.

“…We should work on fixing up the house,” dad said suddenly. “The old step in front, I’ve been meaning to fix it for ages. The bathroom sink needs to be tightened to stop it from dripping as much…”

“My bedroom door needs adjusting,” I added softly. “It sticks when the humidity gets high, and the downstairs window, that’s stuck, we can fix that.”

“All with the money the PRT has provided. Well, some of it,” dad shrugged. “I want to put most of it into your college funds, your mother would have my head if it didn’t get you a proper education.”

I smiled, she just might have. She didn’t seem very threatening, but the way mom could look at you, speak to you, talking circles around you… it wouldn’t have surprised me that she could make someone like _Lung_ back down just by talking to him, and that was just _speaking_. Some of the ideas she could come up with bordered on fantastic past par of even the Hobbit. God only knows how she would’ve taken all of this.

The PRT and Sophia got off light really.

Small steps, one at a time. We could move on, we _would._ I would go back to school, to Arcadia, graduate, then… I didn’t know then, but it was a start.

Dad had work, we had the house, I had school. We’d find ways to move forward, Together. No more floating adrift, we would _change_ things.

… most things.

No more secrets… That promise wasn’t going to be something I could keep.

There were somethings you don’t tell a father, or even a parent. If I started dating someone, I wouldn’t tell him the details, not if I wanted to have his heart keep working. Hiding bad grades for a bit, that’s something. Not mentioning my period, or what I needed to take care of it (mom covered that one long ago), other daily life things and whatnot.

Most of it was just stuff you don’t tell people day-to-day, or even normally talk about it. When was the last time you told someone how your trip to the bathroom was? Or how long it was?

 _‘Some things,’_ I thought. _‘Are best kept secret.’_

_“Running away again, are you Kiddo?”_

In the side mirror, my Double cocked its head at me. I had noticed it when we had stopped; It was sitting on the side of the truck bed, feet tapping a rhythm on the inside of the bed, watching me with that _grin._

_“You can’t run from them, they’re still right here, just waiting for you.”_

As we began to move, my Double spun around, leaping off the side of the truck to land on the street. Then did a little _spin,_ dancing like a child in the street, its arms outstretched and cars barely missing it. It stopped and waved to me, its echoey voice reaching me like it was right beside me, even though we were rapidly getting distance from it.

_“Looking forward to seeing what you do next Kiddo!”_

_“Just like the_ allll _the rest of them watching you!”_

Then it vanished, thin black smoke erupting from where it stood, flowing away like… colors, dropped in moving water.

The last thing to disappear was its glowing eyes.

I turned my attention back to the road, and struck dad up in a bit of stilted conversation about Fugly Bobs.

There were some things that you.

Just.

_Don’t._

_ Share. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [hr][/hr]  
> A/N: While Goosebumps wasn’t published until the 90’s, Stine was around Pre-Scion, so it’s a possibility that some of the things he wrote would still be made, just they might have had a more ‘parahuman’ spin on things post the mid-80s after Parahumans really start showing themselves (if Scion was the ‘first spotted,’ then most other capes for at least the next year, if not two, were likely considered myths to the public until coverage really got over them [I don’t think Wildbow ever clarified what capes did to ‘show themselves to the public’ in 1987, so I’m really guessing here]).  
> That being said, it is likely things didn’t change all that much in basic cultural terms (in USA at least, we know that China and Africa changed, don’t know how much different in the Europe areas other than a few mentions) in certain areas. Yes, people now had to deal with the fact that there were people that could fly and rip a car in half, but general day-to-day eat-work-live-repeat life likely didn’t really take a massive turn until the Endbringers showed up.  
> That’s not to say that things didn’t change, from what little Wildbow showed us of grander Earth Bet, there are major changes, but people still have cell phones, use laptops, go shopping with ‘cash’ (I think USA Bet uses coins, isn’t that mentioned in the Travelers interlude?), and other whatnots.  
> The internet is still a thing (it wasn’t until the 80s and 90s that homes really got any use from the net, Internet Explorer didn’t show up until 1995 after all), as everyone seems to still use it, be it by PHO or just for communications, as well as use it on phones (I think?), so are most governments and their agencies still around. Some space travel still happened, and the stock market is still there.  
> Based on all this we can figure that many things are similar, but off in Bet compared to here (The Breakfast Club was released with Nicholas Cage in the role of John Bender after all) but in broad strokes. It’s likely that up until the 90s you could step into Bet from our world and could get along fine without any changes to your life, if you just ignore the capes running around that is, and if you are just a background extra in life (this is mostly because we don’t have the data on everything that changed in-between the 80s to the mid-90s).   
> That means, unless Wildbow comes out and says everyone, and I mean everyone, had or made a major change in their lives post-80s that touched them directly, in broad looking-down-the-hall-and-seeing-something strokes, people and things in Bet are largely the same until the 90s roll around, somewhat same kids for a half a generation, kind of same movie plots, books are still made, and wars still happened (those that last one would change pretty quickly, and likely was some of the main fuel for the fire that is Bet).  
> Then you look back and go, ‘hell we jumped the tracks a while ago and didn’t notice, didn’t we?’ as you realize that nothing is really the same. After all, Bet is fundamentally different than our world in 2011, but that the first 5 to 7 years after Scion is spotted? Mostly the same, mostly, just until everything we know as Worm gets its feet under it (or at least what pertains to the everyday joe).  
> Or at least something along these lines, it’s my theory at least. Therefore, why can’t some authors and their works be still around post-cape?  
> No matter what the disaster after all, life goes on, and it finds a way.  
> Plus there is Earth Aleph to consider as well.  
> I’m bring this up in an A/N because this is the type of thing I like, the butterfly effects. And could likely spend hours talking to the Simurgh about how her prediction powers work, if, you know, she could talk.   
> And didn’t crush me flat in a second….  
> Or drive me crazy…  
> Or set me up as a bomb to kill people…  
> … Let’s not talk to the Simurgh if it’s not in a fanfic where you can get away with it, ok?


	11. 2.4 Rolling Guard

Arcadia was completely different from Winslow, and not just in how it was built.

Where Winslow was basically one big building, Arcadia was two connected by a middle section. They had a proper gym and auditorium, the outside walls were clean of graffiti, they even had a surrounding wall blocking off most of the school.

Winslow had half a fence, broken down and never repaired.

With the two buildings connected by a smaller one in the middle, Arcadia looked like a capital H. The north side was larger and housed the auditorium, the south held the gym and the cafeteria; both still had plenty of space to fit classrooms however.

My placement testing had consisted of showing up on a weekend to the school with over a hundred others, all likely drawn from the Winslow pool of ‘students likely to fit at Arcadia,’ either through grades, or a lack of school discipline records. Even a few I’d pegged as fitting into the Empire groupings were there. We had been given a short tour to the gym to talk about what was going to happen, then were divvied up to a dozen per class.

No one had singled me out, in fact, no one had given me more than a glance. With the Winslow social circles broken up as they were, I wasn’t alone in standing off to the side.

In the end, the testing had been exactly like any other standardized test; no cheating (obviously), if you need a break ask, same as using the restroom, work until you are done or until the time runs out, fill out answers neatly.

I had surprised myself in my placements. In most of my core classes (Math, History, English, etc), I had jumped up at least one level. A few others I was still at the same place that I was at Winslow, but at least the school was different. I didn’t know if that was because I had ended up dropping a level at Winslow, if Arcadia had lowered their standards because _Winslow_ , or if the PRT slotted me into better classes based on my past grades.

I hoped it was because of _me_ , and not the PRT or anything else.

Still, once at school I found myself avoiding people, sticking to the sides of the halls, getting the chair furthest from the rest of everyone else. The problem with that was that I wasn’t the only one; with the influx of new students taking place over the last few days/weeks, the school’s environment was subdued, many were still testing the waters to see what would happen. So I had to contend with others doing the same thing.

It wasn’t all bad however, the fact that the trio were gone, combined with hundreds of new faces meant I could ghost along.

Well, mostly.

I joined late into computers class, not surprising, I joined late to _all_ of my classes, but Mr. Douglass seemed nice enough. The computers were far newer than Winslow’s, and I was able to get my work done fairly quickly, having a good grasp on the subject already, not that it was hard this early into the year. I was just sitting there, wondering what I could do next without just going into the web, when the kid across from me got my attention.

The computers were set up on tables, four to each side, so it was easy for him to poke his head over and catch my eye with a _“Psst.”_

Blue eyes stared back at me, white skin contrasting with his red hair. He was… attractive, in the, we’re-teenagers-and-he’s-not-ugly type of way; he wasn’t that bad looking, nor did he do anything for me.

I blinked at him, wondering what he wanted. He took that as a sign to speak.

“At the desktop, click the folder with our room number. Then find the one for our class itself, under that is some files and sub-folders containing all the classwork and any homework. Mr. Douglas doesn’t care what we do if our work is done, as long as we got some stuff done early that is and don’t goof off all class.”

My eyes flicked to my monitor and back again. The guy shrugged.

“Just make sure to send it in when you’re finished with it, that way he can say that you aren’t just wasting time in his class if he catches you on PHO.” His wry grin was filled with experience.

Despite my hesitation and wariness, born from past experiences, common courtesy won out.

“Thanks.”

“No problem,” he replied and then moved to disappear back behind his screen, only to stop halfway.

A hand snaked between the computers, offering.

“Dennis.”

I could name several reasons as to why I shouldn’t take his hand, but several more on why I _should_.

“Taylor.”

His grip was steady, but not too strong. He didn’t have many imperfections on his hand, but it was calloused from some type of work.

“Winslow?” He asked as we separated.

 _‘Isn’t it obvious?’_ I thought, but said, “Yeah.”

Dennis hummed. “Well, in any case, welcome to Arcadia.”

Then he disappeared back behind his monitor. Other than that one interaction, I didn’t really speak to anyone. There were a few hellos from my neighbors, and I got the names of two other girls in other classes just by sitting next to them, but other than that…

I found myself following the old patterns, seeking spaces where no one was, eyeing those laughing near me, waiting for the other shoe to drop at my expense. The problem was that I _knew_ that this wasn’t Winslow, that no one was out to get me, or even really knew who I was, even the few students that I recognized from Winslow didn’t even so much as glance my way.

So as my third day at Arcadia ended, nothing of note having happened, again, I found myself having the same thoughts as over a month previously.

Why was I even going to school?

* * *

It was a loaded question really, I needed to get an education, but at the same time… at the same time there was no reason for me to get it at a _school._

Schools were more than just places to learn, they helped shore up social skills, as well as provided the foundation for other skills, like the importance of doing your work, and getting it done on time, but for me?

I… think Winslow broke me. When Dennis had introduced himself, one of the first thoughts I had was, is he a Ward? The next was, is this a precursor to a prank? And yes, I know that is a little on the paranoid side, but it’s not paranoia if they’re really out to get you.

Not that the PRT was out to get me, but given what I did to Winslow, it was only common sense that they would want to keep an eye on me after I had shot down their Wards pitch. What better way to keep an eye on me then to become friends with a Ward?

Even if it was just that I was sharing classes with a few of them, I had no doubt that the PRT was doing _something_ about watching me. Maybe even a van outside my house, just down the street? Or buying out a neighbor’s home, to put surveillance on me?

I wasn’t foolish, the PRT wasn’t _really_ affecting the gang scene all that much, with most of them staying free even after they’d killed people. Hookwolf jumped to mind, I remembered how at one point he was caught then later freed by the Empire within a few days. Whether it was an unwillingness or a lack of manpower, the PRT wasn’t improving things in Brockton Bay when it came to fighting capes and their gangs.

Which did explain why they grabbed Sophia really; a power like hers could be useful. _Could_ have _,_ she wasn’t around anymore after what she did.

Still, my last two years of school revolved around hiding from the trio. Now through? Now, I didn’t know what to _do_. What made things even worse was that Acadia had half-days for most of its students, vocational they called it. Some went to jobs, some even to the governmental branches, and I knew that a few put on costumes. Me? I didn’t have any of that, I was slid into the program because of Winslow, the PRT made sure of that.

All of this added up to the point that I was sitting in my living room, having moved back home, doing nothing but having my thoughts circle around each other.

… maybe I should look into getting a job.

That would take up some of my day, get me to do things, help me move forward. But that thought however had its own issues, like, what could a fifteen-year-old do for a job? Arcadia would get me a permit easily as long as my grades were good (and the PRT would probably fast-track it), but as for the _job_ part of it?

Dad could help, he was more present now, talking to me in the morning, helping make late dinners, but it was _stilted_. Both of us didn’t know how to move forward, what to talk about. Neither of us really had any overlaps in our lives at this point. He was confident that we would get over it though, that we just needed time.

Me? … I wanted to believe him. But nothing was changing, it was all the same.

I missed having someone to talk to. Without Emma or mom, all I had was dad, not that he was… failing or anything. It was just…

I was stuck in a loop of my own making, thoughts running over each other as I tried not to fall into the same old traps from years past, while also trying to deal with the events of now. Something struck me, a memory; back at the meeting, Armsmaster had given me cards for him and Dragon, saying I could ask for help if needed.

Would what was happening to me now count? It wasn’t like I had any better options, not with dad not getting home for several more hours.

The cards were buried inside the PRT folder. Neither had a phone number, but each had a Parahumans Online nametag and an email that I could use. Problem was that I didn’t have a computer at my house, so I would have to go out.

There was a better library in downtown proper, but my local one would do. Getting to it involved a jog to the bus stop, a quick ride, then another jog, but that was mostly because I didn’t want to run the entire thing and end up all sweaty. The building itself was less rundown than the strip mall that it was in, having its walls regularly cleaned of graffiti by volunteers, but other than that it matched the area it was in, one of the commercial zones near old Winslow.

Speaking of which, before I entered the building, I paused to glance over at the ice-tree, my ‘work.’ The light reflected off of it and, somehow, the PRT managed to get a kind of covering over some of it, or intertwined in it as it was, but most of the ‘canopy’ was still free. It no longer glowed with an internal light, whatever had been powering it having run out a few days ago.

I hated looking at it. It never stopped reminding me of what had happened. At least the humming stopped when the light went out.

When I entered the library, I was struck with how little it had changed. Most of it was familiar, the old desk, the worker of the day not behind it, _again,_ the stack of perpetually ‘returned’ books by the door, all seemingly untouched since my last trip here, back when I was still friends with Emma.

The computers were still tucked away on one side of the building, next to an old magazine section. Many were just as old as the ones at Winslow, but I was still able to get one up and running after a few minutes. From there, I had to get into PHO. I’d already known how the system worked, I’ve using to keep an eye on capes for a while, mostly the local heroes, but I never used it for anything more than a news ticker.

But first, after the aging computer opened up the webpage, I needed a username, but no idea what to choose as it could be anything. …nearly anything. I did know however, that I didn’t want to change it later, especially if I started using PHO more later on.

Luckily, there was a Random Username function on the site, and after a few clicks of the button, I found one that was… ok. Most were nonsense, a few words or a phrase put together as not to be offensive, some were even just a string of numbers. The one I choose was simple, and I knew that I could be clicking that button forever if I didn’t stop. So, after a small adjustment, I logged onto my new account and worked on sending a message to Dragon.

■

**♦ Private message from TheUpsideDownGirl:**

**TheUpsideDownGirl:** Hi Dragon? I hate to bother you with this, but Armsmaster said you both would be open to helping me if I needed it.

 **DinaEmry** **:** Hello, Taylor is it? Yes, how can I help? I must say however, I’m surprised to hear from you given the report the PRT filed.

 **TheUpsideDownGirl:** I was wondering if you could help me find a job. Or get one with the PRT.

 **DinaEmry:** You need a job, what for? Did something happen?

 **TheUpsideDownGirl:** Sorry, this was a mistake. I shouldn’t be bothering you like this.

 **DinaEmry** **:** Taylor it’s alright, you’re not bothering me at all. What’s this about needing a job?

 **TheUpsideDownGirl:** No, I’m sorry, just forget that this ever happened ok?

 **DinaEmry** **:** Do you not have a computer at home? Is that why you are at an library?

 **TheUpsideDownGirl:** how do you know i’m at a library?

 **DinaEmry** ***New** **Message*:** You’re Private Messaging me, as both a Tinker and an Admin to PHO, I can easily track the IP down. Did something happen? Do you need someone to talk to?

 **DinaEmry** ***New** **Message*:** Taylor are you ok?

■

 _What was I thinking?!_ Asking one of the _Protectorates top Heroes_ to help me get a _job?_ Really, did I _lose my mind?_

 _Seriously?!_ What the _actual **Fuck?!**_

As I scrambled to get away from the computer, I realized that had not thought this through _at all,_ because of _course_ Dragon would be able to track me! Plus given what I had just told her on top of the report, _because of course she would have access to that,_ what she thinking about me now? I went from not wanting anything to do with the PRT to contacting one of them about maybe working for them!

Because that was what I was thinking, and in a way, it made sense. The PRT already wanted me to ‘work’ for them, I just wouldn’t be doing it as a _Ward_. I figured that they would let me intern, I’d seen posters and ads for it before, and I also figured that my ‘status’ would get me an in?

But why contact Dragon? Why don’t just go into the PRT building and ask for another meeting?

… I knew why, part of me did. The PRT was an organization with total control over their element, just like Winslow, and just like Winslow, they screwed me over. I didn’t _want_ to go work for them _at all_ … but given the options… It would be better than most, better than flipping burgers at least. And if I interned as a civilian, then they couldn’t try and trick me into being a Ward.

As for contacting Dragon, she offered help, her and Armsmaster both. Help not with strings tied directly to the PRT. Dragon made it a thing to help others, both with the Guild and internationally. While she wasn’t a face of the cape scene, she left behind fingerprints where ever she went, helping to repair and restore areas all over the world.

So I could see why I would contact her, to want to talk to her.

I must have sat there for several minutes, as my world reset, as my actions caught up to me. In a way, I felt I better understood how people who took drugs felt, doing things that made sense at the time, but not understand it afterwards.

… With a glance to the clock on the monitor, I realized how much time had passed, and hurried to my feet. I needed to get back home before dad.

Before I logged off however, I noticed the last message from Dragon, a phone number, and a request. If I needed to talk to someone, she would be willing to listen.

I closed the website page, but not before copying down the number.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [hr][/hr]  
> A/N: This… isn’t quite what I wanted it to be, but it’s hard to write what amounts to depression/anxiety/PTSD fueled stupidity.   
> Taylor is just messed up enough that she walked the knifes edge, saw what was happening, then ran back. Everything around her has changed, but she is still stuck in the past.  
> Also, I have a Beta now! PurveyorOfBadIdeas, so give thanks that I have someone to help catch any misspellings and grammar issues.


	12. 2.5 Rolling Guard

Something was wrong with me, I knew this; Dr. Rieper had talked to me about it, how it was normal to feel… disconnected, from everything. He’d given me a few pamphlets on it, what it was called, and how it affected me.

PTSD; it was hard to understand that I had it, or at least a type of it. Although, Mr. Rieper had said that understanding that I had it was a step in the right direction; the harder part was getting myself to break free from its influence.

This was the reason that I found myself staring at the phone the day after I went to the library. I could pick it up, and call Dragon, just to talk, like what my good _Doctor_ how suggested. She _had_ offered it after all.

School was… school. I spent most of the day like the last few, my head down and doing my best to not get in anyone's way. I knew that this was a problem, that I _needed_ to make friends or else I might go crazy… crazier, that was.

I also knew that no one else had heard the humming coming from the tree, and seeing my Double pop up from time to time was not doing any self-confidence about my sanity any favors.

It was just… a pressure in my chest, whenever someone got close, whenever they talked to me, whenever someone laughed near me.

Intellectually, I knew that no one was out to get me anymore, that any bullying would not be tolerated by Arcadia. Plus, if it involved me, the PRT would make sure it got hit on the head by the biggest hammer they could find, if only to protect themselves from public opinion.

The last thing they needed was another Winslow.

But I just couldn’t keep myself from looking over my shoulder; memories of Winslow still curled around my brain, taunting me. Was that mousy girl in my History class just waiting for me to let my guard down, so that she could steal my backpack? That talkative kid behind me in Math, was he going to slip something down the back of my shirt?

Was the only reason Dennis said hello and asked how I was doing each time I sat down because he was a Ward? And was _told_ to keep an eye on me?

In a way, I was more messed up now then I had ever been at Winslow. And it was all made worse by the fact _I knew about it_.

Yes, it was possible that Dennis was keeping an eye on me, but that didn’t mean that him asking how I was doing was less genuine. The kid behind me might just be one of those friendly types that I would easily get along with. And that girl could just not care about me, seeing me as a background person until I talked to her.

All of this was just as possible as the fact that one of them was waiting to stab me in the back. Actually, it was more than likely that they _wouldn’t_ want to stab me in the back, but still… the thoughts were there, and that was the problem.

I _wanted_ to make some friends, to get past this block, but…

This is why I was considering calling Dragon, she was dealing with something similar from what I’d read on PHO.

Agoraphobia, a fear of the outdoors that stemmed from one of the Endbringer attacks, this was why she was always spotted in suits or using remote craft. So I figured that she might be a good bet to talk about what I’m going through.

But I _just couldn’t pick up the phone._

The idea of talking to her, to anyone, about what I was going through now made my throat close up. I couldn’t just… I mean… how could I…

It was one thing to know that you’re messed in the head, it was another to work your way through it.

I had to though, I _needed_ to. Thoughts of my time at Winslow scared me, I wouldn’t go through that again, I _couldn’t_ , on either side of the situation. Being bullied every day, or facing life all but alone out of fear.

But it was those same thoughts that pushed me forward. Sophia and Emma were gone, I got to start anew, I just needed to do _something_.

* * *

Ring once… Ring twice… Ring three ….

There was the sound of the phone being picked up, being connected, then silence.

“… hello?”

_“Ah, sorry, yes hello. Sorry about that, not many people have this number and even fewer use it, this is Taylor yes?”_

“Ah, yeah. And you know that how?”

_“Brockton Bay area code.”_

… of course, I was an _idiot_.

I glanced over at the clock in my living room. It was hard to see with only one lamp on in the dark, but I could make out that the hour hand was definitely past twelve. Sitting there, on my couch, in pajamas, I couldn’t help but feel foolish.

“Sorry, did I wake you? I… I could call back later…”

_“No, no! You’re fine… I don’t sleep much anyways…”_

Well, that was… something good, maybe. I had to keep my voice low, as dad was sleeping upstairs and, if I had any say in it, would never hear about this.

Calling Dragon was something that had loomed over me for most of the day. Dad… I could talk to dad, but opening up to him, after everything that had happened?

 _‘Deep breaths Taylor, don’t lock up.’_ I _didn’t_ have panic attacks, but that didn’t mean that the tightness in my chest was any less real.

I wasn’t able to get any sleep and had laid in bed for quite a while, awake, thinking. Even after I had gotten up and managed to get myself to the phone, I must have stared at it for what felt like _hours_ until I picked it up.

Now though? …now what? Did I just… speak, to Dragon about my problems?

 _“So… you were looking for a job?”_ Dragon asks.

Her voice was enough to pull me back out of the black. “Um, yes. And-and I was thinking about… because of what had happened…” Take a breath girl. “… Do you think that you could help me get an internship at the PRT?”

The silence that followed was not comforting.

 _“I wouldn’t do that if I was you Taylor. While the idea looks fine at the surface, the PRT doesn’t really do_ normal _internships, largely because they’re a paramilitary government organization. Even if you_ did _get an internship there, to say that the work would be dreadful would be an understatement.”_

“Oh.” And wasn’t _that_ crushing.

_“You’d be stuck with basically being a go-fer, carrying things around, getting people coffee, cleaning small messes so that the janitors don’t have to…”_

I could deal with that.

 _“… Plus, there’s the fact they, unless you have an actual job there, can’t really_ pay _you anything. Nor would they have to provide any other benefits, as they are a para_ military _organization, so internships don’t_ really _happen. And, given your status of being a Parahuman, you can’t get a job in the PRT, because then it would undermine the whole purpose of the PRT and the Protectorate being separate.”_

… oh. That changed things.

_“What brought this up anyway?”_

What indeed. “… I just… need something to do… How do you deal with it?”

 _“… With my Agoraphobia?”_ Dragon asked after a few moments.

“Yes.”

 _“… it’s… hard, like I’m being restricted, like there are things that I_ just can’t do _.”_

I could understand that., A tightness of the chest, wavering will, a feeling of why bother?

_“But I get around it, my work helps, but I still take time off to do things I enjoy.”_

“Such as?”

_“I follow pretty much any Tinker discussions on PHO, I talk shop with others about their work, helping them out with ideas if needed…. Really, there is no difference between my work life and my home life at this point. But I enjoy what I do.”_

I had leaned back into the couch as Dragon talked, relaxing. It was nice to talk to someone that wasn’t my dad or a psychologist, someone different.

 _“Speaking of which…”_ and I tensed right back up. _“I… should be thanking you, really.”_

… What? “I don’t understand. Why would you be thanking me?”

 _“For Armsmaster. While what happened at your school was a tragedy, let alone what happened to_ you _, it served to… galvanize, Armsmaster. He had dedicated_ everything _to the PRT and the Protectorate, to the point that his civilian identity might as well have not existed. Now however… he’s taking a more active role in some things, things that he would have normally tossed to the wayside in the pursuit of his own goals. He does more than just work and Tinker now; he helps out with the PRT troops, trains with the Wards more often, hell, he even helped them in doing their homework!”_

Dragon paused as if hearing what she was saying.

 _“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have brought that all up. What happened to you_ never _should have happened, but with both my line of work and my own… condition, I always try to look for a silver lining. They may be hard to find, but I have to have hope that there is one.”_

“It’s alright,” I mutter. And it was, I needed this, no matter how painful it was. I needed to move on from all that has happened, to trust people again. “Sounds like you’re really close to Armsmaster. Do you work with him a lot?”

_“… more than most really. He and I… we get along fairly well.”_

“Must be nice, to have someone like that,” I say aloud.

_“What about your dad? You still have him.”_

“Dad is… dad,” I say, thinking. “Things have gotten better, but neither of us really know where to go from here. We were… broken, from losing mom. We’re getting better, _gotten_ better, but the road is looking like it is going to be a long one.”

_“Well, at least he’s there helping you, that’s better than what most can say.”_

“Yeah, that’s true… did your parents have any worries about you being a parahuman?”

There was silence on the other line, and I felt like kicking myself. What if her parents were dead, or don’t know what she does for a living?

 _“All I had was my father,”_ Dragon began. _“He was in Newfoundland.”_

Now I _really_ felt like an ass.

_“What we had was… he was a complicated man. He wanted to help the world so much, but he… Strict. That’s the word, he was strict. But it wasn’t that he didn’t care, just… I would like to think he would be proud of me, of who I was now, of the work I was doing.”_

“Look for the silver lining, huh?”

_“Yeah. I miss him, but… at the same time, don’t. Strange, I know. I still wish I had more time with him though, but I can’t change what happened.”_

“No mother?”

_“Not really, my father never really mentioned anyone, and I never asked.”_

“Sorry.” I couldn’t imagine that. Mom and dad were both massive parts of my life, to the point that losing mom had all but crippled me for a time. If I lost dad…

No, don’t think about that Taylor.

_“It’s alright, I have no point of reference for a mother, so it’s not like I feel like I’m missing something.”_

That was… what do I say to that?

“I… I guess that you’re lucky then, I wouldn’t know what to do if I lost dad as well.”

… damn it. Open mouth, insert _foot._

“I’m sorry, really,” I say in a hurry. “I just…”

 _“It’s alright,”_ Dragon cuts me off with, her voice soft. _“I get it, really. It’s ok, most people might take that a little weird.”_

Once more, we lapsed into silence. It seemed to be a common theme of the night. To be fair, it had been quite a while since I’d had any type of extended conversation that wasn’t with dad or a therapist.

And really, this was going better than I thought it would have… other than just now.

_“Tell me about her.”_

“… pardon?”

 _“Your mother. From what little I’ve heard so far, it sounds like she was a big part of your life, and while I can pull up things like school records for her, that doesn’t give me a grasp of_ who _she was. So, tell me about her, what was she like?”_

… tell her about mom? Talk of her had been practically _taboo_ since she died. Virtually everything tied to her had even been moved to the basement.

My tongue was thick as I tried to speak, and not just because of the question.

It was back, watching me from the doorway, leaning against the frame, waiting.

“… Mom was… she was smart,” I began, my eyes never leaving my Doubles. “She worked as College Professor, English. Which is probably why she got me so many books when I was younger.”

My Double cocked its head, the smile never leaving its face.

“She was smart, dad always had her help him do the taxes or helping me with homework. She was a good cook, as long as it didn’t involve baking; she never could get the taste of cake right.”

Dragon laughed. _“I know the feeling, no matter how well I follow the recipe, something is always missing.”_

I had to chuckle with her, and a knot of tension released from my gut.

“Mom always blamed the oven, said that it was conspiring against her. Dad just thought she that she liked adding a little something to the mixes, rather than just blindly following instructions.”

“I still remember when she baked a cake for Emma’s birthd…” I trailed off.

_“Ah… I’m sorry Taylor, I shouldn…”_

“Her birthday,” I said as I plowed onward, swallowing. “She had put some cinnamon into the batter as an experiment for a hint of flavor to the vanilla cake. Problem was that she had used _sticks_ , so every now and again, someone would bite into the leftover bits that failed to get broken down during the mixing. We went out for ice cream after that.”

_“She put cinnamon sticks into a vanilla cake batter?”_

I had to laugh at the tone of Dragons voice. “She liked to look at things from different angles, seeing things from a different way. She did that a lot, like…” I had to think, old members, buried, rose to the surface, and I latched onto one.

“Dragons,” I stated.

 _“Dragons,”_ Dragon stated back.

“Yes, Dragons,” I repeated, words tumbling from my mouth as I remembered. A set of old books, a soft and warm smile, Emma beside me as she spoke in wonder.

“They’ve been portrayed as many things over the years, from hoarders of gold and destroyers of villages, all the way to protectors and scientific researchers. She liked to point out how many of them shared the same name of dragon, even had the same characteristics, breathing fire, wings, scales, yet what they _did_ swung wildly over the place. Kinda like you and Lung. She would point this out as them being portrayed just like humans, where one was an evil monster just because it existed and needed to be hunted down and killed, another was the best friend of a lost and lonely child, and gave it the companionship that it needed.”

… It took me a few moments to work out what I had just said, and then I _panicked._

“That… I’m just… she always liked to…”

 _“Did you know that Lung fought Leviathan?”_ Dragon asked.

I did, he was kinda famous for it, it was where he got ‘The Dragon’ moniker.

_“He is the only know parahuman aside from the Triumvirate, Alexandria in particular, that have ever lasted long in direct combat with an Endbringer, some even like to say that he was the one that pushed the Endbringer back into the sea.”_

_“But it’s funny, we’re_ reversed, _him and I. Eastern dragons are often portrayed as guardians, gods, and protectors. They are viewed as a spiritual and cultural symbol that represents prosperity and good luck, as well as even a rain deity that fosters harmony. European dragons however, are envisioned as greedy and gluttonous, with voracious appetites. Them showing up in_ _Christian literature didn’t help their cases, they tend to be portrayed as evil because of a reference in the Book of Revelation to Satan.”_

_“Lung is following the Western folklore, using the image to make people fear him, despite being Eastern… I tend to think of myself as following more of the old Welsh folklore, but I can see the parallels between myself and the Eastern lore. A protector of great treasure, a guardian of power.”_

“… mom would have loved to talk to you,” I said still eyeing my Double. “This was the very thing she would talk about all the time.”

_“I’m sorry I never got to meet her; she sounds wonderful.”_

“She loved spirituality,” I reflected, wanting- _needing_ to continue speaking. It was like a dam had been breached, and all the words that I had to hold back for _years_ started spilling out.

“But she didn’t follow anything, not really. She was more about the _idea_ of it, less about the concepts of gods, heaven or hell, more like… how it affected the world, how it showed in our actions and our lives. She was almost philosophical at times…”

The words poured out now, a feeling in my chest telling me not to stop talking. Like if I stopped… then the memories of mom would be gone forever.

“She knew first aid; she was the one that made sure dad was always up to date on that. She never really cared for fashion, but she would help me and Emma match up our clothes or help us pick out ones when we needed them.”

This didn’t stop, I talked about my first time riding a bike, Emma’s, before it was stolen at least, moms’ hand steady on my back.

About when I got my first F, how I was so scared to show it to them; how she spent all day teaching me fractions, about division and integers.

And so on and so on and so on.

Dragon talked too, about how hard it was, being stuck as she was, about working on Tinker Tech and not being about to explain it to others on _how_ it worked.

This continued back and forth, until I realized that it was nearly three o’clock in the morning.

“Oh, Dragon, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to keep you up this late.”

Dragon chucked. _“It’s fine, I enjoyed it actually. It was… refreshing. It is nice to unwind once in a while, don’t you agree?”_

_“Feel better Kiddo?”_

There were several moments that I waited, thinking, before…

“Yeah, I do,” I replied. To who I didn’t know.

My Double only seemed to grin wider, and in a voice that somehow had gotten even more menacing, said,

_“Good.”_

And if I had any idea on what _that_ meant, maybe I could start to figure out _what_ it was, why it was following me around.

I hadn’t _really_ told anyone about it, not even Dr. Rieper knew that I was seeing the Double. Oh, I had alluded to it, but never outright said that I was _seeing_ myself. I had mentioned it like one might talk about looking in a mirror, mostly because when it had first turned up, I was in the hospital, with Armsmaster explaining what had happened to me because of Sophia. He had remarked that it never should have happened, that he was working on resolving it with the PRT, and that he personally was going to see to it.

The first thing my Double had ever said to me was,

_“The in-kids don't care about the invisible outs, not until they need something from them, right Kiddo?”_

Then I spotted it, _laughing,_ lounging on the seat my father just vacated, its voice sounding like mine, but with a male undertone, at least at first. Nowadays it sounded _just_ like me, if louder and echoey.

No one in the room reacted to it, and later on, Dr. Rieper had told me that sometimes seeing yourself as different was normal after what I had experienced, but I don’t think this is what he meant.

 _“… have you talked to your dad about your mom?”_ Dragon asked out of the blue, forcing me out of my recollections with a whole _other_ problem.

The fact was… I hadn’t, _neither_ of us had. When she had died all the things that had reminded us of her was slowly shuffled down into the basement over a few weeks. After that, there was a _void_ in the house, the feeling of… something missing in our day-to-day lives, something _more_ than the obvious.

And it was always the little things that had caught us by surprise. The dishes piling up, the mail going unsorted, suddenly finding that you’re out of things like toothpaste, shampoo, or soap. It wasn’t that we couldn’t take care of ourselves, it was just… somethings ended up falling to the wayside, being forgotten, until it popped up in our faces because we were missing another set of eyes to notice.

_“Taylor… I know that you don’t want to use your powers, but could you at least come in for testing?”_

Despite everything, I _knew_ that Dragon would be bringing this up, who wouldn’t? I didn’t blame her though, but…

 _“They’re not going to just_ let you go _Kiddo.”_

My Double _grinned._

 _“Its… there’s a trend, among the cape population. One way or another, they end up_ using _their powers, either as capes, or as a way to support themselves.”_

I had figured as much; I could see in-between the lines on PHO. All the stories about capes Triggering and having to _do_ something with their powers, one way or another.

Some even posted asking for help on what to do with them, besides being a villain or a hero.

 _“They see you as dangerous, a risk, an_ unknown agent _.”_

_“Your power… what happened to Winslow wasn’t your fault Taylor. No one blames you for Triggering and your power activating in a panic. It’s happened before, not… quite like you but, there is a precedent for this type of thing, enough so that the legal system has you covered in regard to what happened during your Trigger Event. Still…”_

_ “You can’t run away from your power  _ Kiddo. _”_

“I’m not _running,_ ” I say. To Dragon? To my Double? “I’m just…”

Just what? Afraid? Who wouldn’t be?

“Just…”

It wasn’t like I had destroyed my _school,_ killed _hundreds_ and caused several blocks to be _quarantined_ from _my_ power activating.

“Just…”

 _“I will admit, it is not going to be easy,”_ Dragon continued in my silence. _“But you can’t let what happened hold you back from living.”_

“But I don’t know _how_ ,” I vocalized in a whisper. “How do I move forward from all that’s happened to me?”

 _“One step at a time, that’s how,”_ Dragon told me in a kind voice. _“Actually_ spend _some time to_ talk _to your dad… Your mother, she was important to_ both _of you from the sounds of it. Use her to bridge the gap between you two; she wouldn’t want her memory push you apart, least to mention everything that’s happened up to now.”_

No, mom wouldn’t. At this point, she would have grabbed us both by our ears and dragged us off somewhere to work this out, no matter our feelings on the matter.

“Why are you helping me anyway?” I ask. “I’m not that important.”

 _“Do I have to have a reason to help someone Taylor? Sure, my interest in you might also extend to wanting to know more about your powers, and the fact that you helped Armsmaster, even if you didn’t mean to. But none of that means that I’m_ obligated _to help you, I just might want to because I can.”_

_“And you’re wrong Taylor; in all of my life, I’ve yet to meet somebody that wasn’t important.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I’m not happy with the last fourth of this, I feel that it’s… sudden. But I was struggling with forming connections with what Taylor and Dragon were talking about and what I needed them to talk about, plus I needed a way for Taylor to start moving forward past her issues and this seems like something Dragon would do so…  
> And I just got to a point that I just needed to wrap it up. At some point I’ll go back over it and do some patching, but for now it’s, ‘good enough.’  
> (It’s not really, but I’ll stay stuck on it if I don’t move on, therefore, I’m moving on)


	13. 2.6 Rolling Guard

It was one twenty-five in the morning when Danny was woken by the faint echo of laughter.

The master bedroom was dark, lit only by the red lights of his clock, and the faint wisps of the streetlamp peeking through the blinds.

For several moments, he laid still, ears straining to hear the sound that had awoken him.

It had been such a long time since he’d heard that sound, so long that he’d all but forgotten it.

… _There._ A whisper on the still air. Taylor’s voice, coming from _downstairs_.

Danny felt a thrill of relief coupled with abject fear, if he went downstairs to find his daughter, seeking for a reason why she was up, what state would he find her in? The laughter gave him hope, but not enough for him to submerge his worry.

After everything that had happened, hearing Taylor laugh was a boon to his soul, a glimmer of light in the dark days that had followed both Annette’s death, the apparent start of the bullying, and the Winslow Incident.

It had another effect however, the laughter drew up old memories, of better times long past. Times of smiles and play, of family and friendship. Something that the Hebert household had been missing for quite some time.

And suddenly Danny was angry.

At Taylor, for making him worry. At the city; a smoldering resentment towards everyone, from the Mayor, all the way down to the teachers at Winslow, for letting the city fall apart and for letting his little girl get hurt under their watch.

He hated the girls that preyed on his daughter, the lack of attention from the school that allowed them to get away with it. He felt rage towards the PRT, for not keeping their Ward under control, for not keeping enough eyes on her and letting this all happen.

Hatred towards _all_ of it, for draining the light from his home.

Underlying it all was frustration with _himself_.

Danny Hebert was the one person he could control in all of this, and Danny Hebert had failed to do anything that mattered; He hadn’t gotten answers, hadn’t stopped the bullies, hadn’t protected his daughter.

It was to his eternal shame that he had to stop himself from getting up, going downstairs, and confront his daughter, from shouting at her and demanding answers to the questions that lurked in his mind.

What was she doing? Why was she up this late? Who was she talking to? Why was she hiding this from him?

Why did she hide _the_ _bullying_ from him?

However, he knew that by confronting her over these things, and by extension, getting angry at her over the situation that he has no control over, he would do more harm than good, and would end up threatening to sever any bond of trust they had reforged between them.

Even if, more than anything, that was what he wanted. Finding out what had really happened after days of waiting had been a shot to the gut that she hadn’t felt since he’d lost Annette.

She had told him, however, in every way except articulating it aloud back in her hospital bed, weeks ago, that she didn’t want to speak of it. She had pleaded with him, with body language and averted eye contact, unfinished sentences and things left unsaid, not to ask, not to push, when it came to that had happened at the school. He couldn’t say why, exactly, but he did have ideas, several in fact.

So he ran his fingers through his hair and laid back down, ears straining to hear past the old house steadying in the night, and stared at his closed bedroom door in the dark.

Home was an escape from it all, he suspected, and if he recognized the bullying, made it a reality at home, maybe she wouldn’t have that relief from it. Perhaps it was shame, that his daughter didn’t want him to see her like that, didn’t want to be that weak in front of him. He hoped that wasn’t the case.

For the fiftieth time, he felt the urge to ask his wife for help, for advice, for support, but her side of the bed was empty, and it had been for some time. Daily, it seemed, he was struck by the urge to call her cell phone, to turn to her for advice.

He knew it was stupid, she wouldn’t pick up, and if he dwelt on that for too long, he became angry at her, which just made him feel worse.

Danny ran his hands through his hair again, which was thinned enough at the top to be closer to baldness than not; from stress more than age he hoped. Theories, it was all he had in the days following the Incident; the little things he looked back on.

Emma not coming around anymore, the lack of Taylor interacting with him about school, her general glumness, the space that was forming between them, more than the loss of Annette could make.

It added up slowly, tiny details he missed, or just didn’t want to see, lost as he was himself.

Annette would have had his head for that, for not seeing it happen, for not doing _more_.

The fact that this all happened because she wasn’t around to do just that wasn’t lost on Danny either.

In the end, Danny had found that he was right in January, when his Taylor had been pushed hard enough to Trigger as the PRT had called it, destroying her school and, in no doubt the eyes of others and more importantly herself, causing hundreds of deaths as a consequence.

No matter what anyone would say to her, Danny knew that Taylor blamed herself. It was in how she held herself, how she talked to him, how she walked around people, as if just being near her meant that everyone was in danger.

Hearing that something had happened to her school was one of the worst days of his life, just barely rising over getting the call about Annette. If he had lost Taylor as well, the last piece of Annette he had left…

It was just the two of them now, and he was a failure of a father if she died as well.

The whole situation just made Danny want to reach out and hit something, a trait he had gotten from his own father.

Danny’s father had been a powerful, heavyset man, Danny hadn’t gotten any of those genes. Instead, Danny ended up being stick thin and awkward, short-sighted with glasses and bad fashion sense; A nerd when the term was still young in popular culture.

What he _had_ inherited was his father’s famous temper, quick to rise and startling in its intensity. Like his father before him, he could and would go off on tirades that would leave people shaking. However, it was only in his younger years that Danny had ever hit someone in anger, even then it was only twice.

Danny had long viewed the moment he’d started to see himself as a man, an adult, to be the point in time where he had sworn to himself that he wouldn’t ever lose his temper with his family.

He would not pass that on to Taylor the way his father had to him.

That Oath was never broken with Taylor, he’d never screamed at her, never got angry with her, but he knew Taylor had _seen_ him angry.

The first time, he had been at work, talking to a mayor’s aide about the revival projects for the Docks. Instead of new jobs, however, he had been told that there was going to be layoffs to already beleaguered Dockworkers.

Taylor had been present in his office that morning, they had had plans to go out later in the afternoon, so she was in the perfect position to see him fly off the handle in the worst way.

The second time had been four years ago. He had lost his temper with Annette for the first time, breaking his oath to himself. Taylor hadn’t been there to see him shouting at her mother, but he was fairly certain she’d heard some of it.

That had been the last time he had seen Annette.

The _third_ time was at the hospital following the Incident; At least there he felt justified in his anger. Armsmaster had shown up and had explained what had really happened, about Emma and Sophia bulling his little girl. All the details came out; about the failure of the teachers and the school district, about that girl _Sophia_ being a Ward, about how it all meshed together in a set of separate circumstances that ‘snowballed’ into Taylor getting shoved into a locker like a can of tuna, with no one doing a _damn_ _thing_ to stop it.

It was to his shame that he had sent the hero running from the room, but Taylor was in the room as well, and was wide-eyed in reaction.

He almost found it funny, he had managed to keep his calm over the PRT officers talking to him, he was calm during the meetings he had with the school officials about Winslow, and yet when someone had actually stopped and took the time to _tell him the truth_ , he flipped out at them.

It was because of this that Danny harbored a deep fear that the reason Taylor had not offered any details on the bullying was out of fear he would, in a blind rage, do something about it. It made him feel sick, the notion that he might have contributed something to his daughter’s self-imposed isolation in how she was dealing with her problems.

It took Danny time to calm down, helped by telling himself over and over that Taylor was okay, that she was home, that she was safe, that he was going to be _better_ , a better father, one that was there for her. It was something of a blessing that, as the anger faded, it took his energy with it, and he laid back down on the bed.

He resolved that he would talk to Taylor in the morning, get an answer of some sort, try to restore trust, to bridge the gap between them.

Leaving the right side empty out of a habit he’d yet to break, Danny pulled the covers back up around himself.

He dreamed of lilting music.

* * *

Taylor’s bed was unmade when Danny checked her room in the morning.

It wasn’t the type of unmade that said that she had just gotten up however, Annette had managed to get both Taylor and him to at least put the blankets back in place when they had gotten up; this was the type that said that she hadn’t been back to her room during the night.

There were several heart-pounding moments as Danny all but raced down the stairs, only to find Taylor, awake and well, sitting in the living room.

Surrounded by boxes.

Danny’s heart nearly stopped, for he recognized these boxes; they should have been the basement, where he had put them last.

Back when his wife had died.

Taylor stared at him, wide-eyed, curled up on the couch, the contents of several opened boxes next to her, a familiar book in her hands.

Danny stared back as buried memories surfaced from the sight of that book.

“… you won a bowling tournament?” Taylor asked, breaking the reign of silence that had fallen over the pair.

“That… I…” Danny took a breath, shuttering. “It was before your time, before….”

Words, yes, Danny realized that he needed to use his words to avoid shutting down.

“I had… during collage I… you know, it’s actually a bit of a story,” Danny managed to get out.

Somehow, Danny managed to make his way to the couch and sit down beside Taylor. The book she was holding was open to a page he recognized; a younger Danny, surrounded by a few of his college friends, holding a trophy high with a smile. Several other similar photos surrounded it, including one were one of his friends had apparently managed to drop the trophy mid-picture take…

“It… it was before I met your mother, the early years. In fact,” Danny managed to let a chuckle out. “One of the reasons we’d even started bowling was because there was a women’s club, one that had several members of the college in it.”

“Oh, not your mother,” Danny clarified after seeing Taylor’s questioning face. “These… it was before I met your mother.”

Taylor’s only response was a ‘look’ and a raised eyebrow.

“… I was younger, ok?” her father defended.

Danny felt his mouth twitch, and Taylor seemed to be fighting a small smile as well.

“Ah, yeah, it actually was some of the other guy's ideas. They wanted to do something for the group, and bowling was easy enough for all to do. Plus, there was beer and… girls.”

Both of them were grinning a bit at this point, because… it was just _ridiculous_. Here they were, sitting in their living room, surrounded by the fragments of someone’s ghost, and Danny was making excuses for being a normal human.

Although Danny had more than a hint of embarrassment in his years, his previous attempts at a love life was _not_ something that he thought he’d be talking about today.

And to his _daughter_ of all people.

_And yet…_

“… I wasn’t really that good at first,” Danny continued. “But… after a few months, I, as well as most of the guys, were good enough that we tried our hand at the tournament.”

And yet… this was his history, and Taylor was curious. This was something that they could bond over, sharing his past, even if there were some embarrassing parts.

“Even though we won, it was mostly due to the fact the two main front-runners couldn’t make it for the tournament, plus a little bit of blind luck. I think the trophy ended up with Michael, maybe something about a girl?”

Danny hummed, and looked at the photobook in Taylor's arms. It was an old one and had been put together by Annette during a crafting phase using all kinds of old pictures; if Danny remembered this one book correctly, then it was mostly of his life before her meeting him.

“I ran into your mother in the parking lot,” Danny explained. “As it just so happened that some of the women’s club had ended up falling in with Lustrum’s group, and… Annette was there one day to help pick them up.”

As he spoke, Danny thought back and was suddenly _there_ ; the taste of cheap beer on his tongue, the muffled sounds of balls rolling and the arcade machines just beyond the door to his back, and the smell of pizza and burgers in the air.

“I didn’t know who she was, just that I… was captivated,” Danny muttered. “I want to say that I spoke to her, that we hit things off but… well, I stood there like an idiot with my mouth open.”

And for the first time in a long time, Taylor _laughed._ The giggling sound alone wiped any thoughts of not telling the story from Danny’s mind as it echoed through the house.

“Yeah well,” Danny chuckled, his own grin still going strong. “From there I had another problem, I had no idea who your mother _was,_ and was left in the awkward status of trying to ask around, which ended up exactly like you might think.”

“It got even worse when I found out that she was in one of my lecture classes and had been for _weeks._ ”

Some things were fuzzy, but Danny still remembered the class; one of the business courses which Annette was taking because she was looking into getting a law degree, while Danny was studying up for a more general business course.

His first attempt at asking her out resulted in getting laughed at, if only because he tripped over his own feet. Still, one of the few good things his own father had taught him was perseverance and confidence. It had ended up being a kind of whirlwind romance, Annette had joined Lustrum because she’d believed in equality, and because she had a bit of a rebellious streak going on.

She’d never believed in what the group ended becoming, nor in the whole ‘ridicule and humiliate men’ thing. She was out to, ‘reveal the truth about gender’s,’ which was that they didn’t matter, as, ‘it only should be what you do that defines you to others. Actions, not appearances, are what we should base each other on.’

But she had admitted once that she joined a few ‘shaming’ sessions before, having gotten caught up in the fever.

In the end, their relationship sped by, within a few months had seen both of them living together. Annette ended up abandoning her pursuit of getting a law degree and fell back on her secondary, English. Teaching to be precise.

“One thing led to another, and we ended up with you,” Danny finished.

Between them, a new album lay, this one chronicling the years just before Taylor. It even had a few baby photos in it. Several of the boxes had been opened further, things had been pulled out of it; a report from Annette’s university, a water painting that Danny remembered Annette had made when she was pregnant with Taylor, a set of rewards for her schooling days.

All things that held ties to the lost member of the Hebert family.

“This your dad?” Taylor asked, pointing to a photo. In it, a smiling, if you could call it that, Danny stood next to another man, one that shared some resemblance to him.

“Yeah,” Danny remembered that day. Good old dad had managed to keep his temper in check (more like he didn’t have anything to set him off), plus Annette proved to be made of stronger stuff than Mr. Hebert.

“He died when you were four, so you don’t likely remember him. My mother passed a few years before that.”

“… and mom’s parents?”

“… Haven’t heard from Gram in a long time,” Danny replied. “Annette said that she was too far away for proper visits, and that she had cut ties with her long ago; the only reason you even met her was _because_ of you. We were similar in that way, though the ghosts of her parents were more present in her actions when we first met; she was… uptight, to say the least. She had told me that her life had always been structured, that she had rarely been able to choose things for herself, outside certain things. Coming to the Bay and joining Lustrum were both one parts rebellion, one-part personal beliefs, and one part falling into old patterns, as she said anyway.”

“Is that how she ended up teaching?” Taylor asked. “I remember her saying that she was looking into getting a law degree because it was something that she had felt would be a good _fit_ for her, not something that she _wanted_.”

“Yeah,” Danny remembered that day as well. Taylors elementary school had been doing a career day, and Taylor had wanted her mother to come in, not to show off, but because she just wanted her mother to be there.

Annette didn’t end up going, pointing out that a _teacher_ going to a _school_ wasn’t much of a career day showing. This, of course, brought up Annette’s own career choice, the path that she didn’t take, and what she could have done.

In the end, Annette had imparted wisdom to Taylor; that she should seek out a job that she enjoyed, rather than one that felt she could _do._

“Your mother once lamented that she didn’t keep up with her law studies during the worker's riots, she felt that she could have done something more to help,” Danny said. “But other than that, she told me that she never once regretted her decision to go into teaching.”

“She was… a woman of actions,” Danny continued. “Decisive actions. The way her mind worked could, and did, leave me in the dust, but there were still times that left me wondering about her. Sometimes… sometimes she would have a thought or an idea, and she would just… leave me behind. Sometimes it had a point, other times…She actually was the one that wanted the truck, said that we needed something for moving things around, like furniture or if I needed it for the DWA. I never did, and truth be told, I just think Annette _wanted_ a truck.”

Danny paused for a moment, before turning and looking into one of the nearby boxes. “… I think that some of her notebooks are in here. She had kept something of a journal going, a stream-of-consciousness type of thing, it was her way of keeping up with her own head, keeping me in the loop of the things she wanted to do.”

Taylor frowned. “Mom kept a journal?”

“She stopped around the same time that you started walking,” Danny said. “Said that she didn’t need it any more… now that she had something more important to keep track of.”

Danny continued to look over several of the boxes for a moment, even going as far as to get up and check one of the ones off to the side, before he returned to the couch.

“They must still be in the boxes downstairs,” he said as he settled down. “We can… take a look…”

“… I noticed that a few had her college books in them,” Taylor said to break the silence that overcame the pair. “I also found a few letters, from what I guess were her students?”

“Yeah, your mother… she was good to her students. Helpful.”

Taylor hummed, carefully reached into a nearby box mostly filled with pictures. “I never knew much about her work… other than the obvious.”

“Brockton Bay Community College was lucky to have her that’s for sure,” Danny supplied. “She had gotten several offers from Boston about a teaching position, even one from New York! In the end, however, she decided to stay here; although she did do guest classes at other colleges from time to time, those classes would keep her out of the house for _days_ , if not a week, sometimes even _over_ a week. The money was nice, but still… I didn’t like how every few months she would up and leave.”

“I remember a bit of that,” Taylor said. “But it was years ago, right?”

Danny nodded, his eyes drifting over another book; a teacher’s English reference. “It was mostly during your pre-teen years, she rarely did it during your baby and toddler days.”

“… she would bring me postcards, and other gifts,” said Taylor, running her hands over a watercolor picture of a fractured moon.

“I remember now; you would take me to work sometimes, after picking me up school,” murmured Taylor. “I would do homework with Ms. Kelly, sharing her desk with her.” Taylor smiled for a moment. “She had candy in her bottom drawer.”

“… I can’t say that your mother enjoyed having to leave for those jobs,” Danny admitted. “She was always ecstatic to come home after all, and _hated_ to have to leave you.”

The pair had to smile, as memories of the missing member of the Herbert household came to them.

“She kept in touch with a few,” Taylor supplied suddenly. “From the looks of things; a number of these letters are from a group of the same people.”

“Really?” Danny frowned; he hadn’t known about that. About the letters sure, but not about the fact that were mostly from the same people.

Taylor nodded. “One of them is even in French. Here, take a look.”

The paper that his daughter handed to him was still crisp, likely due to the fact that it had folded up in one spot for so long. Danny didn’t know much of the French language, but he had picked up a few things up.

It seemed that this letter was mostly about, from what little he understood, what was happening in this, (women’s, maybe?) life. Some of it read like a pen pal, about what was going on, a thank you for the… something, it had been a while, and so on.

But it had been _years_ since Danny had read any French, so most of what he could gather was from piecing together what words he still knew.

“A student perhaps?” Danny said aloud, before shaking his head. “Might have even been someone from her Lustrum days, likely one of the ones that had gotten out as well. There’s a part were… I think she’s offering up a favor? Or repaying one? Maybe asking for one? You might have better luck than me in reading this, Annette taught you more French than she did to me.”

“Never really liked _reading_ it,” Taylor muttered as she took the paper back. Danny had to smile; Annette wasn’t French in the slightest, but she seemed to at some point adopted the language as her second one, out of the several that she could speak. Taylor hadn’t shared her enthusiasm, at least with its written form, she had loved to hear Annette speak the language, however.

… it had been Emma that could read and write it easily.

“Sounds like mom helped this ‘Kuzu’ with something, whoever that is,” Taylor said after a moment. “And to let her know if… ‘Kenta,’ gives her any trouble. Family member maybe? One that was going to her class as well?” Taylor shrugged. “It’s strange that they aren’t French names though when they’re writing in the language…”

“Maybe they spoke French as a second language, like Annette did,” suggested Danny. “Just because they don’t have French names doesn’t mean that they didn’t know the language. Maybe it was something that they and Annette shared, and they just wanted to write that way?”

Taylor nodded absently, still reading, before glancing over the other sets of letters and asking, “Did you know about this? It seems like… they talked often. They knew each other, enough so that they asked for favors.”

“… Not really,” Danny answered. He didn’t really, not all of it. Even married people kept some secrets from each other, some sense of personal space and privacy was a healthy part of any relationship.

Though there were some things that he wished he’d asked about now.

“Your mother could never seem to say no when others needed help though,” Danny continued. “At least, when they were being reasonable. The colleges that asked for her to come in and cover always seemed to be quite reasonable, to say nothing of the students she grew attached to. She did like to keep her work and home life separate, so I’m surprised that you found any letters in the first place. I do know that she got them a lot; at least once a week, if not more, the college forwarded mail to us, always from grateful students she’d helped out.”

“She _was_ always willing to answer my questions,” Taylor said with a smile. “I remember _that_ for sure. I also remember you asking for her help whenever I _really_ got going,” Taylor finished with a grin at her father.

Danny had to laugh. “Part of that had to deal with your mother _encouraging_ you; there were days that you never _stopped_. I think that she _enjoyed_ you asking questions, she once told me that…” Danny paused for a moment, his voice thick, as he was just suddenly _hit_ with memories of his wife. “… She wasn’t going to hold you back from _anything_ , to force you into something that you didn’t want or make you into something you were not; she wanted you to have a better life than the one she was given, to dream of better things than of what others told you that you had to do.”

During Danny’s talk, Taylor became slightly more withdrawn, distant. So, he waited after he finished; he knew better than to push on these sorts of things.

“… What… what would mom think of all of this?” she asked quietly.

Ah… a question that Danny himself wondered, and one for the life of him could never get a satisfactory answer for; not to say that he couldn’t make a good guess after living with the woman for years, so he knew how Annette would _react_ to these events, even some of what she would _do_.

But for what she would _make_ of all of it?

“… To be honest Taylor… I don’t know if, one way or another, the PRT would be still in the city after your mother was done with them. She would not have let what happened to you stand; same went for that Hess girl, your mother would have _buried her._ She still kept in contact with a few friends from her Lustrum days, the less… crazy isn’t the right word given the circumstances, but… the good ones, the ones that wanted things to be better, she still knew some of them. And through them…”

Danny smiled sadly, then frowned as his own thoughts sank in. “Yeah, if your mother was still around, there would have been a reckoning. She might have even pulled the DWA into it.”

“She would have, huh?” Taylor… the only way that Danny could describe his daughter as she spoke, was _parroted_. And that made him uneasy; he knew her, something just had crossed her mind.

Hopefully, she would talk about it and not hold it in, Danny felt like they were… making progress, despite the subject matter; despite the fact that they weren’t really speaking about what they really needed to talk about.

“… what would she have done about Emma?”

And there it was. At least this one he knew the answer for.

“She…”

And that wasn’t a good thing.

“She never would have let it go this far. You never would have hidden this from her.” And wasn’t that a dig that made Taylor flinch. “She would have found out, and then gone straight over to the Barnes and demanded to know what was going on. Things… they might not have been fixed perfectly, but… you two would at least still have been friends.”

Taylor nodded absently, then set the picture away, picking up a new one that Danny actually recognized. Annette had painted it, modeled it after Starry Night, a Van Gogh painting.

Figures traced over the painting, taking in the swirls of color, the new newborn star from whence it came from; or a dying one, as it was blue. Danny never could figure it out.

“… I should have done more, about Emma,” Taylor said finally.

“Taylor…” Danny began. “What Emma did to you… it wasn’t your fault. You did… it was the cities fault, and the PRT, for not keeping an eye on things when they should have. You shouldn’t have to do _anything_ about her, it should have never happened in the first place.”

“No, it’s not… the… this is…” Taylor paused, her eyes misty “It’s not about, the school, the PRT, or hell, even about Sophia, it’s about _me._ I _should have done more_ … I just…” Taylor took a shacking breath.

“Emma _made_ her choice, she choose to… It’s not that I feel… It isn’t on me, yet… in a way, I could have stopped this.”

Danny waited; his chest tight. Taylor hadn’t ever covered more than she needed too about the bullying, with him hearing more at the PRT meeting than he’d ever gotten out of her.

“… She _made_ her _choice_ ,” Taylor continued. “But so did _I_.”

“… I chose _inaction_.”

Taylor gazed up at Danny, eyes almost, but not quite, in tears. “She was my friend dad,” Taylor got out, her voice cracking. “And when mom… when mom died, she was _there for me_.”

“… but I wasn’t there _for her_.”

“I know, I know, it’s stupid… but she was my _friend_ , practically _my_ _sister_. And when she started to… why didn’t _I do something?_ Why did I just _take it?_ …Her parents… why didn’t I go to her house, and _demand_ what was going on? _I knew her,_ she never would have… they didn’t _know_ dad, I know that not a excuse, but… none of this would have happened if… they _didn’t know_.”

“… is this what it’s like dad?” Taylor asked through her tears. “To be an adult? To… see things in hindsight? All the… _mistakes,_ that you made? All the things you _could have_ done?”

Danny hesitated, thinking. On one hand, this was his daughter; the one that he wanted the best for, no matter the cost. He would give his life for her, support her no matter the decision, and held her happiness in the upmost priority.

On the other hand, this was _his daughter,_ and he hated to lie to her.

“…Yeah, it’s part of it,” Danny admitted. “You learn new things, old things are left in the past, you grow, your tastes change, your experiences change you… and you make mistakes. The important thing is not to make those same mistakes again, and to learn from them.”

Taylor nodded… then glanced away.

“… None of this would have happened if I had _done something._ ”

Danny all but crushed his daughter to his chest in a hug as she broke down.

… there had only been a few times that Danny had experienced this; the first time had been years ago, something had happened between Taylor and Emma that had split the two of them up nearly two weeks and both Danny and his wife had to console Taylor.

It was one of the few times that he’d never _even_ seen Taylor cry. Not that she’d never cried before, but there was a fundamental difference between crying because you fell off a bike, and crying because you thought that your best friend had just kicked you out of her house because you had broken one of her new toys.

The next time was at his wife’s funeral, and to say that was a trying day would be an understatement.

Here, it was the old catch twenty-two; Danny didn’t want his daughter to suffer any more than she had, but at the same time… he knew that hiding her away from the world would do more harm than good.

No matter what he did, he couldn’t change what had happened; he couldn’t go and beat up Alan for what Emma had done, that would only make him feel better for a short while. Same went with the PRT and the city; lashing out at the ones that let this happen to his daughter would do no good.

So he held on to her as she cried, the messy kind, were his shirt got soaked and every drop tugged hard at his heart.

But Danny knew that this was something that needed to happen, for Taylor's sake. He may have been… distant, after Annette had died, but not enough to see that his little girl had changed, and not for the better.

 _This_ gave him hope, however; after all, when was the last time that Taylor had shown any other emotion other than ‘bland?’

So this was a _good thing_ , despite the fact that it gripped at his heart and tugged _hard._ It meant that things were moving forward.

Danny knew that they had passed a point, that following this, things would get better.

They _would_ , he’d be _damned_ if they didn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: And thus the story goes on, broken pieces getting put back together again.  
> Which fits, as the Buff Timer is up and is now on Cooldown.  
> Brace yourself Kiddo, you got incoming.  
> And it’s not the Grineer.


	14. 2.7 Rolling Guard

Jogging was not my idea of fun, but it was useful for getting me out of the house and for having my mind work on other things, just like Mr. Rieper had suggested.

But there I was, armored in sweats, an old shirt, a pair of good shoes and my hair pulled back into a ponytail (a messy one, my curly hair didn’t really like being tied up this way. It knotted easily).

I kept to the blocks near my home, now that I _was_ home that was (during the stay at the apartment) I had kept to the well-traveled streets. Dad hadn’t liked me jogging at first, but he had gotten over it.

Somewhat.

I still had the can of pepper spray with me, the kind you use to ward off _bears._

Yeah, dad really didn’t want to take _any_ chances.

Dad had called Arcadia, telling them that I was going to be out for a few days and we had spent them going through moms’ stuff in the basement. By a nearly unspoken agreement, some of the stuff had ended up straight back into boxes to be used as donations; it didn’t really make much sense for us to keep old bras, shoes, and clothes of someone that had passed on two years ago.

Not that _everything_ went, dad kept a dress or two, and not that we just carelessly tossed _everything_ like jewelry, but really, it wasn’t like either of us would be _wearing_ the stuff.

(I didn’t ask dad about the dresses, maybe they had a memory attached to them? Or maybe he figured that we could get them fitted to me to pass them on… I didn’t quite know how to feel about that)

Other things needed a bit more thought, like the pictures. In the end, we kept a few of them, some of her favorites.

It helped liven back up the house.

Well… me and dad going back to _actually_ _talking_ helped too.

Our searching also had brought up plenty of old memories, as well as forming new ones between me and dad. It also brought about revelations about mom.

She had a few ‘journals,’ most of which were anything but. Some were notebooks, half-filled with old school notes, random quotes, a few song lyrics, a handful of drawings; so there were only a select number that fit into the ‘journal’ category, as in, they had my mother’s personal thoughts in them.

There was also the matter of the gun and combat/survival knife we found in the disaster kit/box.

It was just a nine-mil, the kind commonly found in the hands of cops, or anyone that wanted ‘a gun’ in the most general sense. Dad had no idea why she had one, and while it was registered, the only hint that we had about it was that the papers (it had the papers in the same box) stated that it had been registered just a few weeks after I was born.

The box of ammo spare that was missing two of its four magazines was also very concerning.

In the end, me and dad had agreed that mom had brought one in a protective streak after she had me and just didn’t tell dad. Why it was missing ammo was something we didn’t really try to figure out, she wasn’t around anymore to tell us what it was all about. And the knife was just an expensive wilderness type of one, so we figured that it was something extra she’d placed into the disaster kit just in case we needed it.

Neither of us knew if she had actually knew how to use the gun, or was just giving it a shot (no pun intended), but dad had admitted that some of the other college students she had hung out with would have likely been in the ‘knows how to use a gun’ group, same as some of his friends.

Dad kept it though. Said that it made no sense to get rid of it.

As I rounded a corner, I slowed down enough to fish out the phone that Dragon had mailed me to check the time. It wasn’t anything fancy, as without a Tinker on hand, any Tinker-Tech would break down after a while, and it wasn’t even a high-tech phone, just a bare-bones basic flip-phone.

_< Consider it a gift to Brockton Bay’s newest Rogue, and a way for you to stay safe.>_

The text message had an obvious sender, as the box had Dragons symbol (a dragon, go figure) on the front. Still, having a basic way of communication available to me, even if it was limited and I needed to pay for if I went over the minutes (unless it was related to an emergency of some kind, which I viewed as _something_ of a subtle hint towards joining the Wards, as I would only be using it like that if I went out and used my powers), it was… I didn’t _quite_ know how to feel about it.

On one hand, it was very useful, and my dad was happy about me having a way to contact him easily, even if his… enthusiasm, was lacking (he did go out and get one for him a few days later though).

On the other hand, having a stranger, even if it was _Dragon_ , gift me a phone felt _weird_. I was thankful that it was something simple, lacking in a social life as I was meant that I only added my home and dads’ number into it. They joined the pre-installed ones, the PRT’s number, and Dragons.

But that was all going to change, I _needed_ it to change. I knew that I couldn’t keep acting like I had back in Winslow,

… it was a consistent thought, the need to change.

Mr. Rieper had pointed out the obvious, that _who_ I was in Winslow couldn’t be _who_ I was going forward, that way had problems. The hardest part, however, was getting over the _fear._

I _knew_ what I needed to do to at least start on the path of _really_ moving on.

Make a friend.

But given that I had had only one real friend, who in turn spun around and burned me hard (even if the reason was… out of the ordinary), I found that… hard, to do.

Sure, I had a few other classmates and kids that we hung out with, but in reality… Emma was my sister in all but blood, and as the years went by, she was the sole one I kept in consistent touch with.

That, plus two _years_ of bullying would leave anyone wary of meeting someone new. But I had my whole life ahead of myself, and I couldn’t - _wouldn’t,_ live it as a hermit.

Easier said than done, as the saying went. I wasn’t even sure I knew _how_ to socialize anymore. Logically, I knew that I didn’t need to make a new ‘BFF,’ but just finding someone I could eat lunch with would be a good start.

I didn’t need to find someone that could replace Emma, what we had was long gone, buried deep into the ground and never coming back. I just needed to watch myself, and not get caught up in High School Drama. Maybe join a club, Arcadia actually _had_ the money for those.

Book club? I had had plenty of time to read during Winslow; there wasn’t much else to do at the house.

Music? I would have to get another flute, but I should still remember how to play; though if I was good enough to join would be a whole other thing. I doubted I was still good enough to join Band on the spot after not playing for so long.

Bah, so much for the jogging taking my mind off things. Maybe I need to go for a longer run?

What was the distance that you should start to get tired at a steady jog anyway? An hour and a half of consistent movement, and I was barely winded.

My jogging route circled several blocks near my house, keeping me close to home and away from places like the Winslow Quarantine and the ‘bad’ parts of the Docks area we lived near.

If I had started this activity earlier in the year, I could have easily jogged to school. As it was now, I needed to take the bus to get to Arcadia, as it was further _into_ the city, rather than sitting outside the urban or dock industry areas.

Being this early in the morning meant that my only companions were the occasional car passing me by, someone leaving their home (for the day, most likely), and a few other random morning walkers or joggers; something that was surprisingly common for the area that I lived in.

With how long I’d lived in the city, I knew most of the bus routes to get to most places, so I knew that I could somewhat continue my runs given that the stop I needed to take to get to Arcadia was the upcoming one, just a few blocks from home.

The issue was the timing for it, as if I wanted to keep doing my runs, I would need to learn when to leave the house to both make it and get the running in.

A problem for another time, I reflected as jogged down the road and made the next turn, for when I could get my hands on the bus schedules for the area.

This particular street I was on held only me, the bus stop I needed to take to Arcadia, and a single woman waiting at it. I kept up my pace, not needing to wait for the bus nor expecting anything from yet another morning person; I had passed by enough of them to know that at the most I would get a wave and a ‘good morning.’

“Excuse me.”

I paused for a moment, glancing at the black-suited woman standing at the bus stop.

“Do you have the time?” she asked with a small smile, holding a phone up. Its screen was clearly cracked in a way that made me wince; I had just gotten a phone, and even if was a cheap thing, the thought of it breaking like that was something that unsettled me.

“Uh, yeah,” I half panted half replied. It only took a moment to fish out my phone again and check it, but during that, I eyed the woman. She stood out in a way that I couldn’t place.

Her suit was immaculate and _had_ to be tailored, but it didn’t seem like one of the expensive ones, so she wasn’t _too_ far out of place for the area. She was white with shoulder-length dark hair that seemed to be split between curvy and wavy and, was pretty in the way that most women, including me, wishes that they could be; not super-model like, but the look could be pulled off with makeup. The fedora was weird, but this was Brockton Bay, so in the end, I figured that she was some type of manager that liked to dress to impress.

Still… something was bugging me about her.

“8:32.”

“Ah,” the women’s eyes drifted to the bus sign and the times on it, half-covered in tags. “Then it seems I’ve missed the bus... Thank you anyway… This bus does go into downtown, correct?”

There went my idea of her being a local. “More or less,” I replied. “Really depends on what section you’re trying to get to.”

The woman hummed for a moment. “Through if I end up traveling more East than South, that might be a problem.”

Well yeah, someone like her might only seem a little out of place in my neighborhood, but in the Docks area, the parts not by the Boardwalk? She’d last only a few minutes at best.

“You won’t happen to know of the bus routes for downtown, would you?” the woman asked with a smile.

“… not really.” And I didn’t. I knew of a few, but those were to _places_ , like the Bank, or the PRT building, not of the others.

“That’s all right, I’m sure I can figure it out. It will be hard to get lost with both the ocean, the downtown buildings and _that_ guiding me,” she finished with a gesture upwards.

 _“That”_ was the ice-tree and she was right. If you just kept in mind where the ocean was and could see the tall buildings of downtown, or the hints of mountains in the distant inland, it would be hard to get lost in Brockton Bay.

The ice-tree was just a bonus landmark.

I nodded not knowing what more to say. She found the words I couldn’t.

“Have a good day,” she said with a soft wave. “And thank you for your help.”

It was so simple, so normal, and yet it stuck out at me. Most people around here would give it, most having been around long enough that we were bound by the hardship that helped _define_ Brockton Bay.

And yet coming from this woman, dressed like she was, was _strange._ And the fact that _I_ found it strange was something.

But whoever she was, I couldn’t interject myself into her life; not only because it was strange to do so, but also because I didn’t know _who she was._

Still, what was happening was unsettling me, and I couldn’t place _what it was._

As I turned to leave, I paused, however, thinking…

“… you don’t exactly fit in around here.”

The woman stared at me, wide-eyed.

I cursed at myself. Well done Taylor, you opened your mouth to say quite possibly the strangest thing you could.

“I mean… you don’t seem like the type of person that lives in the area,” was what I tried to recover with. “In that… I could imagine seeing you downtown, or… somewhere else. Just not here.”

There were several seconds where we just looked at one another, and I was internally panicking and was debiting on just running away when…

“…My job brought me here” the woman said slowly. “Not exactly my first choice, but… it was something I had to do.”

Ah, that made more sense… a little. There was a story there, one that I knew I shouldn’t be prying into.

“… The bus drivers tend to keep a few schedules on them. The holders are often empty for the buses out here, the city isn’t going to waste its money on things like that. But the drivers… they should help you stay away from the bad parts of town.”

“Thank you,” said the woman who I was sure was faking the smile now.

I nodded and called out, “Have a good day!” over my shoulder as I jogged (not ran! I didn’t run!) from the area.

So much for a simple morning.

* * *

The final stretch to my home gave me time to reflect on what just happened.

It was impulsive, unlike me, but that was a good thing. It was a start, signaling that maybe, just maybe… I could do this.

I wanted to change myself, to force myself out of my comfort zone, the one that I had fallen into during the bullying. And while it didn’t seem like much, talking to that woman, _choosing_ to talk to her about something, felt _great._

…god, even in my _thoughts_ that sarcasm was thick.

I didn’t know if the uneasiness in my gut was from my running, or the awkward conversation I left behind. Truth was, I was panicking _more than a bit_ over what I’d just done; it was one thing to start talking to people again, it was a whole other to stuff your foot into your face when talking to someone. But I knew why I did it.

It was an old part of me that had reached out, a part of that held ties to my mother.

 _She_ would have helped that woman out, not in the sense that mom was naïve (she was plenty street smart), but in the sense that she would have gotten more out of that conversion than I _ever_ could have. Mom would have been able to figure out if there was something _wrong_ with that woman; like if she was bait for something, was running away from something (or some _one_ ), or was just genuinely lost.

Me? I had no idea.

Maybe that was why I had stopped and opened my mouth, rather poorly, however.

I had lost so much of myself over the last few years. I had tucked myself away into a little ball, draping myself in shadows to try and avoid the Trio, trying my best to remain unseen, never knowing if or when the next attack would come.

My pride and identity had been targeted, both physically and emotionally, and everything was just compounded further by the fact that it was _Emma_ that was breaking me down.

… broke me down, really, while I personally view the fact that I never fought back as a win (as did Dad, but Mr. Rieper was on the fence), in the end, the Trio did manage to force me to disappear in a way. Who I was before, the girl that existed back with I was still friends with Emma? At some point… she died, and she was never coming back.

Mr. Rieper had assured me, that I mostly wasn’t unique in this regard. _Mostly,_ being the keyword.

Everyone changed, it was part of growing up. Even if I hadn’t gotten bullied, it was unlikely that who I was now, would still enjoy the things of five years ago.

Didn’t mean that it still hurt, or that I was happy about how it had happened. But it did, and now I was left with trust issues, a wariness of people, and fear of it happening again.

But now? … now I had a chance to get some of it back. The old me of years ago would have told the woman about the routes I _did_ know, about the Boardwalk route, or the one that passed right by the Bank.

The me of now however, just wanted to get out of there.

And that was the real problem, that after everything that had happened to me, I couldn’t just tuck myself into bed for the rest of my life. No matter how much I wanted to. If I wanted to life anything resembling a normal life, I was going to have to put myself back out there, to start trusting people again.

No matter how badly it made my palms sweat, and my heart pound.

So, in the end, I made a choice, to push past my comfort zone. Mr. Rieper had said that recovering from my ordeal would take a while, but it would begin with small steps. With him saying that, I couldn’t help but be reminded of a quote mom had liked, one that I’m sure plenty of others liked as well given how common it was.

_A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step._

That one and so many more filled some of my mothers’ journals, so maybe that was the link that caused me to speak up. She had _dozens_ of them, most seemed to be a cross between school notebooks and filled random thoughts, like foods she’d tastes, music she seeming had written, dates and times to remember, that kind of thing.

They were a glimpse into a part of mom’s life, one or two of them even had things about _me_ in them.

And I was sure that my actions with that woman, no matter how little they were, fit well with that quote.

As I approached my home, I resolved to look into those journals more. Maybe reading about her experiences would help me out in my situation; I knew that she’d joined Lustrum when she was younger, perhaps she had written about _why._ The memories I had about her didn’t fit in with what I’d heard about a Lustrum follower, but things apparently did change near the end.

The journals helped a bit, made me feel closer to mom, despite the ache that formed as I read them.

I stepped over the broken step (we still needed to fix that) and opened the door. The faint smell of breakfast greeted me, not uncommon. Dad had taken it upon himself to cook breakfast every morning now, given that we both got up early enough to eat before heading out. It was nice, to do something together. Still, there was a bit of gap between us, born from the distance we’d gained from Moms death, as well as the bullying.

But we were working on it, and I had hope that we’d be a family again, especially after the morning when we started going through moms’ things.

This being said, it was with confidence that I walked into my house, knowing that we both were making amends, and we both had agreed to stop drifting by one another.

At least some things were looking up, it was harder to stick my foot in my mouth with dad after all.

I made it three steps into my living room when I noticed the smiling girl sitting on my couch.

She was relaxed, as if she belonged there, her legs crossed, and her fingers intertwined at the knee; her raised leg bouncing to some unheard beat. Her hair was dark blond, and pulled back into a ponytail like mine, but better. Strands of hair dangled off the side of her head where they had gotten free from the ponytail. Green eyes eyed me, the sharp color offset by the spattering of freckles on the bridge of her nose.

“Huh,” she said with a tilt of her head. “Figured I’d be waiting longer than that.”

_… What?_


	15. 2.8 Rolling Guard

It was several moments before I could respond.

“What?”

I didn’t say anything about being articulate in my reply.

“You made good time,” the girl clarified. “And you cost one of your minders a bet.”

_What?_

There was no one else in the room, no sign of dad either. He wasn’t the type of person to let a random stranger in the house. At least, I thought so; it was possible that this girl had bluffed her way past dad, saying something about school or the PRT.

I mentally shook my head. No, dad had years of experience dealing with people, he would have caught on to something like that _fast_. And even if he did end up letting her in here, he wouldn’t have just left her alone.

So where was he? It smelled like breakfast had been cooked, and it wasn’t that far from the kitchen to the front door, he had to have heard me coming in. Or at least heard the girl talking.

A bolt of fear shot through me. Had she done something to him?

“Relax,” the girl said suddenly, with a fox-grin. “I didn’t do anything to your dad. He just stepped out, and my boss told me that this was the perfect opportunity for us to… get to know one another.”

If anything, that made me _more_ worried. Dad had said that he going back to work today, but he didn’t say when; did he leave without saying goodbye? I found that hard to believe about the last few weeks we had, let alone the months that he endured.

Furthermore… _how the hell did she know what I was thinking about dad?_

“Oh, that?” the girl smirked and tilted her head to the side. “I can read minds.”

That, that I called bullshit on, mostly because of my own research into capes. There were a _lot_ of powers out there, but the only one that everyone seemed to agree came the closest to ‘reading minds’ was the Simurgh.

Strangely though, the girl’s actions helped to steady me. Her words about dad meant that she had likely waited until he’d left before breaking and entering. Which meant that it was unlikely she was from either the PRT or the school.

It also hopefully meant that she wasn’t here for violence, but it was also just as likely that she waited for dad to leave for that very reason.

“Who are you? How did you get in?” Perhaps not the greatest of questions, but that didn’t invalidate their necessity. And sure, her comments signaled that she was all but certainly a cape, and pissing off an unknown cape that showed their face in your own house was a major red flag given the Unwritten Rules; but I hadn’t done anything to warrant attention yet (other than Winslow).

So, _what the fuck?_

“An ally of convenience, and back door; you leave it unlocked, brave of you two. And for the record, this wasn’t my idea,” offered the girl with a sigh. “ _I_ wanted to meet you at school, but I was overruled in that. My _Boss_ wanted to extend… an offer, to you and your father however, and told me to do it like this.”

Suddenly, the grin was back, and if possible bigger. “But surprise surprise, all the bugs in your place have been turned off! So we can speak a bit more candidly about what’s really going on. Because I owe you one, for helping me figure out something about my ‘employer’ and that I feel bad for you, considering that you’re in over your head and have no idea that you’re even underwater yet. But, being the (relatively) good person I am, I’ll take some time and effort to extract you from the deep end of the pool.”

“I…” What does one say to the stranger that breaks into your house, and proceeds to offer to help you out?

“Most people would knock and ask to be invited in,” I said by way of reply.

And immediately wished I could have said anything else, because _really?_

“Most people would be freaking out more,” the girl shot back. “But you figure your chances are better than most. After all, you just need to make it out the front door or hit 911 on that new phone of yours, right? Unless of course, I’m one of those capes that can kill you before you get to the door or reach for your phone; which I’m not, by the way.”

Like I could believe she would just _tell me_ that. As for her power… Thinker, easy deduction to make. That limited who I was talking to, to _unknown_. The Protectorate didn’t have Thinkers in the Bay, and none of the gangs that I had looked up had a mental based Thinkers.

Über and Victor were more physically-based Thinkers, but Über didn’t seem to be the type to want to kill anyone; he and Leet made more money off their videos than any crimes they did.

Victor was E88 and they weren’t the type to knock gently.

And it didn’t mean that she didn’t have a second power, one that could, in her words, kill me before I got to the door.

“Oh and, sorry about all of this,” the girl gestured around the room. “But the PRTs bugs are off and… sorry, I’m repeating myself here; I just wasn’t expecting them _all_ to be off. Because I can talk a little more freely than I normally _ever_ could, which is kind of a relief really. Therefore, I’m kinda winging things here, hoping that the PRT hasn’t noticed that I’m actually _here,_ and comes barging in to get me. The last thing I need right now is to be caught and placed inside an easily accessible kill box at the PRT HQ; don’t need to give my boss any more reasons to have me offed.”

“ _What?_ ”

“As much as I love a good Q -and-A,” The girl stood and dusted off imaginary dust from her pants. “Let’s at least introduce ourselves. I’m Lisa.”

The girl, Lisa, extended a hand, as if she expected me to shake it. I considered it for a moment, general kindness and social niceties kicking in over the general weirdness, before I decided not to.

Lisa didn’t seem at all offended when she lowered her hand. “Now I know who you are, Taylor Hebert, and I know that you recently Triggered. I also know that you turned down the PRT’s offer to join the Wards. Smart move, they would have likely moved you to some random little town in the middle of nowhere that only has like, three _really_ small-time capes to its name.”

“Now as for what I’m doing _here?_ Well, my boss wanted me to reach out to you and make an offer, the type that is implied that if it’s refused, the next time it’s offered it’s done with a gun to your head.”

I stared, wide-eyed at Lisa, who despite the situation, continued to smile at me.

“Oh don’t worry,” Lisa added with a wave of her hand. “I’m not the type of person my boss wants me to be, not that that would work out well either, so I’m not here to make that offer; mostly because of the fact that I don’t view myself as an asshole. Sure, I might not be the most morally sound person out there, but at least I don’t look into killing people because they happen to get in my way.”

Lisa continued to speak, even as she sat back down on my couch. “You may not have realized it yet Taylor, but you just became something of a hot commodity in the world of capes. Or a passing fad, I don’t know which yet. The PRT is keeping an eye on you, my boss wanted to know everything I can dig up on you (which isn’t much let me just say that now) outside the PRT severs, and the fact that some parts of the public are still on the lookout for you; they want you to be held accountable for Winslow, upset parents you know. Luckily, the PRT is keeping a lid on things so far. Which in turn leads us to now, with me, sitting in your living room, and you, with a whole bunch of questions.”

“Shouldn’t you know them all already?” I ask semi-dryly, even as I glanced around the room, seeing if anything had been shifted. “With the whole, ‘reading minds’ thing?”

She was _definitely_ a Thinker. It didn’t seem like anything had been moved from this morning, so I couldn’t tell if she had got through things. And there was nothing nearby that would get me sometime of edge here; short of walking out the door, or reaching for my phone.

Which had the chance of ending badly; at least if I listened to her, I might be able to figure out _why she was in my house. _

Lisa snorted. “You didn’t believe that for a second. And given my little rant, you have questions, ones that I’ll happily answer.”

This whole thing was surreal. First, a complete stranger shows up in my home. Next, she’s offering commentary of my cape state. What I _should_ be doing was calling the police and getting out of the house, and not necessarily in that order.

But at the same time, she knew _who_ I was, she spoke of having a _boss_ that knew who I was. Hell, she’d offer up that information willingly, and while this whole thing just screamed _‘don’t do it!’,_ the fact remained; someone other than the PRT _knew who I was._

I could work with the PRT, they had laws that they at least _should_ follow and as long as I didn’t do anything cape-like, then I was safe from a _legal_ standpoint.

That wasn’t to say that I didn’t have worries about them taking a less than legal approach, but I figured that as long as I didn’t go against the PRT and worked with them (in a way) instead, then I would be ok.

But whoever Lisa’s boss was? I had no guarantees that they wouldn’t arrange an ‘accident’ if I didn’t follow their wishes. This whole thing broke several of the cape world’s ‘Unwritten Rules,’ particularly the ones about not going after civilian identities or their families.

Furthermore, the information that she was giving up on me… most of it could only be found within the PRT.

“It’s starting to sink in huh?” Lisa asked. “Some of what I said, and the implications.”

“… I don’t trust you,” I said bluntly. “And right now, frankly, I _really_ don’t like you.”

Lisa shrugged. “Good, that’s a smart choice. Don’t trust the random stranger that broke into your home; I’m not even going to argue against that one. Doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t listen though.”

… She was right, and I hated that fact. If she knew about what the PRT had about me…

“What do you _want?_ ” I all but spat.

“Ah, there’s the aggression. I was wondering where it was, considering, you know,” Lisa glanced around the room. _My_ living room.

I just glared at the blond, and she raised her hands up in a surrender motion.

“Sorry, sorry. Really actually. I _really_ wasn’t expecting your place not to be bugged anymore, nor was I expecting this opportunity. You see, my Boss is a paranoid old fuck, and we _do not_ see eye to eye. And ever since you showed up, he’s not only been even more paranoid, but also making _mistakes_ , and the Boss doesn’t _make_ _mistakes_.”

“So, what does this have to do with you? Well… for _me,_ you helped out in figuring out who my Boss is; for him… you represent both a problem _and_ an opportunity. Somehow, your power is messing with his, which means that you’re _very_ lucky that he really doesn’t like to make any rash decisions, or you would be having a different conversation, with someone else, in a concrete room and you tied down to a chair.”

“What? Why?” I asked. “I haven’t done anything! The only time I even used my power…”

Was back at Winslow. Was her ‘boss’ one of those really young and powerful capes, like Grey Boy was? Or did I happen to do something to him when Winslow happened?

“See, this is the part where you helped me out,” said Lisa. “I had a good idea _who_ my Boss was before this, but you helped confirm it with Winslow; even helped point me in the direction of what _type_ of power he has. He’s a Precog of sorts; it’s the only thing that fits. How his power works… I don’t know. But _your_ power, on the other hand, it seems to _screw_ with Precogs.”

“Which is bad, considering that, as best as I can tell, he wants the city under his thumb, and that he’s willing to recruit those he can leverage, and kill those that stand in his way.”

… I didn’t need this, and I didn’t _want_ this. I was supposed to be moving on with my life, getting _past_ my past, and getting dragged into some sort of underground cape power struggle was decidedly not on the agenda.

Yet… if what Lisa was saying was even remotely true, then I really didn’t have much of a choice. My power was messing with his; how? I had no idea.

Suddenly, _not_ getting my powers tested seemed like a stupid thing to do.

Sure, it wasn’t like I had any plans or thoughts about getting into the world of capes, or having anything to do with them after Winslow and the disaster that was the PRT handling Hess. But hell, I didn’t even know _how_ to use my power, what if I ended up blasting apart Arcadia with another ice-tree because my first boyfriend cheated on me?

Granted I never once felt like _using_ my power, and didn’t ever want to as well, so I had no idea on what my power did (plus I didn’t have any plans on getting a boyfriend for a while; after what I’d been through, I didn’t want to deal with _that_ potential drama for a few more years). But I also was smart enough to realize that they won’t just leave me be, at some point, whether I wanted it or not, I would have to go to the PRT to get my power tested.

In the same thread… the PRT was built to deal with things like this, Lisa, her boss. If I went to them… except that they might not believe me, and the thing was, Lisa _knew_ who I was, and hadn’t she just used the words “easily assessable,” “PRT,” and _“kill box”_ in the same sentence?

“… look,” Lisa said with a sigh at my silence. “I get it, really, you’re not alone in this boat. I wish that you hadn’t been dragged into this mess.” She made a face. “After all, when Coil ‘asked’ me to look into you, it didn’t take long to see our similarities.”

Coil? The minor villain that used mercs? He was the one that had found out about me?

PHO didn’t have that much on him, other than him controlling some territory and having some minor crimes accredited to him. But…

Lisa smiled wilily. “Kinda my reaction when I first heard about him as well, well, mostly. Getting grabbed off the street in my public identity to be forced into service changed my perspective on Coil. So, for the record? Going to the PRT about this would get a mark on your head pretty quickly.”

I didn’t know much about the capes of my hometown, other than the obvious ones like in the Protectorate. And Lung. That’s not to say that I didn’t _know_ about the capes, just that I wasn't able to name half of them before Winslow, other than the leaders and the rather… infamous ones.

During what free time I had between Winslow and the PRT meeting, however, I took the time to better look into the cape scene. What I found wasn’t good.

Empire Eight-Eight, basically Nazis. _Fifteen_ capes to their name; everyone knew about the Nazis, some of the posts on PHO claimed that they were ‘the good guys.’ But dig just a little bit deeper, and you find that some of them, like Hookwolf or Alabaster, were just killers with an idea to hide behind.

Azn Bad Boys; also known as the group that _Lung_ commanded. Only three capes, but two of them where powerhouses capable of sending a number of the Protectorate running, if they survived the fight in the first place. While the third was an, ‘informational security’ nightmare.

Archer’s Bridge Merchants, or just the Merchants. Drug dealers, and just generally a group that didn’t care about anything but what they wanted to do. They only had like two or four capes, depending on what source you believed.

After that it was the minor groups, like Faultline’s Crew or the Undersiders. The smalltime Villains, Rogues and Independents that drifted on the outskirts, trying to make a living however they could.

But Coil? Practically _nothing_. A few details here and there, mostly about him using mercs with Tinker-Tech weapons and controlling a small section of the city. In fact, the only reason I even remembered the name was that he was marked as owning territory in the city _despite_ the fact that no one knew anything about him.

Despite what it sounded like, this didn’t make it better. If Coil was able to figure out who I was, had links inside the PRT, and had no issues with killing, then it wasn’t looking good for me.

I had read enough books over the years to understand where this was going; the other gangs in the city had reasons for being around, like drugs, power, racist comments and agendas, money, fame, showboating (in case of Über, Leet and Pwnage at least), that kind of thing, but if what Lisa had said was true, then Coil was different.

His actions spoke of patience, of planning, of gathering information; these weren’t the moves of a TV cartoon villain, these were the moves of the type of plotter that only revealed himself at the final twist, to show that everything had gone exactly as he planned it all along. A mastermind that had no qualms about finding out someone’s public identity (mine) then sending someone in to… talk to them.

Which was really bad, as it seemed that I somehow was inadvertently messing with that very mastermind; a man that would lose no sleep at night after he had me and dad killed for simply stepping into his way if what Lisa was saying was true.

“Yeah, you’re pretty fucked,” Lisa said bluntly. “And it’s mostly because you haven’t done anything other than exist, and who your father is, that you haven’t been snatched up yet. Luckily, I think we can help each other out.”

After this she winced and rubbed at her temples, muttering, “Damn headaches,” before fitting me with another smile.

“It might not be obvious, but I _really_ don’t like Coil being my boss,” said Lisa. “Plus, after being ordered to look into you, I found that you’re a good person in a shitty situation. So, I think we can work together and resolve this problem in a way that benefits us both.”

“ _Resolve?_ I… I’m _sorry?_ You’re not the one that just had a stranger walk into her home and practically get a death threat,” I snapped. “And now you’re saying that _I’m_ the one that needs to help you?!”

Lisa again held up her hands in surrender. “Woah there, while I get where you’re coming from, and I respect and understand it completely, don’t forget that I’m basically putting myself in the crosshairs here. If Coil finds out that I’m doing this…” she trails off, before continuing.

“Look, normally, I’d never be this open, but with the combo of your power, and the fact that you have a direct link to the PRT because of it, means that you alone are in the very unique position to help me get free.”

“How would I even begin to help you?” I ask, still in a slight daze but still feeling like something was boiling over in my skin. “I barely know what’s going on! All I want…”

I cut myself off, because… I didn’t _trust_ Lisa. Sure, she hit me with some very powerful information, but the fact that she just showed up out of the blue was suspect. How did I not know that she was feeding me false information?

Despite what had happened with Hess and the PRT, I really didn’t think that they would bother setting something up like this to label me as a villain. The thought had crossed my mind, it fit better than what Lisa was saying (or I hoped, because in other words it meant that someone had seriously thought about killing me). But they didn’t really need to do that, because they had managed to (mostly) sweep Winslow under the rug when it involved me.

If they had wanted to get rid me in secret, it would just be my dad that would protest and while he could make a pretty big fuss given his links to the City Council, the PRT should would be able to cover that up fairly easily as well. Plus, I hadn’t even been back to school for two weeks yet (and was still a loner), so it was unlikely that anyone would miss me at school.

“You don’t _need_ to trust me,” Lisa said. “It would be uncharacteristic for you to just trust what I’m saying without checking it first. But at the same time… you need to extend a bit of faith, because if I’m right… then you will definitely _not_ have a choice in the matter. Which you don’t, by the way.”

Damn it, that was starting to get _really_ annoying. Just what was her power anyway? She smiled her fox-grin at me and continued.

“So, do we have, something, of a deal? You help _me_ out? I help _you_ out?”

“… it’s not like I have much choice,” I bitterly replied.

The age-old idiom came to mind, _‘stuck between a rock and a hard place.’_

After all, here were the facts as I knew them:

  * The PRT knew who I was
  * I did not trust the PRT to have my best interests in mind (not after Hess and Winslow)
  * This girl, Lisa, knew who I was
  * Her boss, Coil, knew who I was
  * Coil was a villain
  * Coil was very _unlikely_ to have my best interests in mind.
  * Coil, based what on Lisa, his subordinate, had told me, had no problems with killing me and my dad.
  * Lisa, at significant personal risk, t old me several of these things.
  * I couldn’t really trust Lisa, but was failing to find a reason for her to risk herself like this.
  * I also couldn’t find any reason for her to lie about this (well I _could_ , but not in a way that put me and dad in possible danger)
  * Several of these things contained information that only the _PRT_
  * Therefore, Coil had connections to/inside the PRT.



So, in other words, I couldn’t go to the PRT, as Coil would get to me and my dad; not to mention they might gang-press me into the Wards if they A: believed me, and B: could protect me from Coil (getting put into the Wards _was_ still better than the alternative though).

And if I let Coil get his hands on me, I might end up using my powers at his wishes or could very likely end up dead if I had no control over this… anti-Precog part of my power.

All of this meant that, barring a sudden out falling into my lap, I had to work with Lisa. Unless this was all complete and utter bullshit, but then only a fool would dismiss this all and _not_ work with the girl.

Despite the fact that I _so_ wanted to turn her away; I wanted no part in cape games.

But it seemed that capes wanted me to play their game anyway.

“Right, not-teammates teammates then,” Lisa said with a smile. “Now I know that you have a ton of questions, just as I know that you really don’t want to be seeing my face right now; So, before I tell you my plan and leave, anything critical that you want to know?”

There were several things I wanted to know. Some of them involved how and where she got her information. How much did Coil know about me? How far was his reach into the PRT? Did he have any of the Protectorate or Wards under his thumb?

All of this was just happening too fast, but I didn’t have any control over it and didn’t _that_ cause my chest to tighten.

Luckily, Mr. Rieper had taught be a few breathing exercises for situations like this; they helped a bit, but I was lacking in a _‘calm controlled center, where one's emotions lie still in the rain.’_ So, I had to make do with what I could do.

“What types of… _things,_ would you have me do?” I ask. “Because I’m not going to cover for you, nor help you do anything. The PRT hasn’t gotten around to forcing me into the Wards over my powers yet, so I can’t even be a mole, not that I would do _that_ anyway.”

… Thorough I might have, given that it was both my and Dad’s lives on the line. The PRT might have been able to protect me from getting kidnaped vis getting me into the Wards, but short of placing a guard on him, my dad would be harder to protect.

Lisa shook her head. “No, nothing like that. If anything, all I’ll ask for is you to check something for me, maybe quietly feed some info to the PRT, or Dragon, she would be better.”

“That doesn’t really answer my question.”

Lisa sighed. “In truth? All you need to know is to keep your guard up, and not to take any offers from anyone. Coil has more than one mole in the PRT. What I’m really hoping is that you are still messing with his power enough for me to get the drop on him and get rid of him, one way or another. As for something that you _can_ do… The PRT is going to want you to come in for powers testing, my advice? Go in for it. It would be helpful for you, Coil will get his information, and it will give me some more time to set my plan into motion.”

“Long term, however… there might be a few things I’ll need you to do when the time comes. Until then, however, just keep doing what you’re doing. As long as I’m careful, it’s unlikely that Coil will lay into me, or you for that matter; he _hates_ to make snap decisions.”

That didn’t sound that bad really, other than the whole possibility of getting killed if Lisa screwed up. But she was in the same boat as I, and while I had doubts about her, I could at least tell that Lisa wasn’t lying about most of the things she was telling me; her actions and the bitterness in her tone when talking about Coil told me that what she thought about the man were true. I would be in the same position as well, hell, I _was_ in the same position.

“Ok then… Coil, what does he want? He is a villain, obviously, but most would be making more noise at this point, so does he want to be the top dog of the city? To does he want the city? And what plan?” At a glance, both of those were the same things, but if Coil wanted to _own_ the city, then that meant that he needed to kick out all the other gangs _and_ do something about the PRT.

“Can’t tell you everything, informational security, you understand.” And that grin was back, damn her. “But… Coil _works_ for the PRT, but he’s avoided suspicion by not acting on anything that’s come across his desk. So, my best guess is that he wants to do something to get rid of all the gangs, and out the Director at the same time, opening up the position for him to take or barring that, making it so that _he_ is the guy controlling the underworld around here. I bet it’s one of the reasons he’s working so slowly, he wants to have everything come together in a chain of events, a chain that _he_ holds onto.”

“As for my plan? …similar thing; but just know, that you’ve given me the opportunity to throw a few wenches into Coils plans.”

“… that’s it?” I ask. “Just… mess with him?”

“It’s far more complicated than that,” Lisa admitted. “But Coil is the type of man that _really_ doesn’t like it when complications crop up, and I plan to give him one _hell_ of a complication.”

“So, what does this with all have to do with me?” I ask after a moment. “Why hasn’t he just killed or captured me and been done with it? If he has as much control as you say he does, and I’m messing with him as bad as you say, _why am I still here?_ ”

It was something that had been bugging me, if my power was messing with his, causing him to make mistakes, then why hadn’t he grabbed me or taken me out yet? Sure, I was happy he hadn’t, and it made sense for Coil not to waste everything he had worked for by making a rushed decision, but why send _Lisa?_ Someone that he has to know would be looking for ways to get away from him?

“Truthfully? Coincidence… mostly.”

I blinked. “What?”

“You just so happen to be Danny Hebert’s daughter,” Lisa clarified. “The same Danny Hebert that’s not only the de facto head of the local Dockworkers, but also one of the main men behind the DWA keeping the gangs out of the still working portions of the Docks. In the current economic climate, this doesn’t matter much, but a man with ambitions like Coil? Well, he wants to rule the city, even if it ends up in secret.”

“So, if the gangs mysteriously were taken down, or at least lost huge chunks of their territories, by the PRT or Coil himself, and if he were to get your father into his back pocket, by maybe getting the ferry working at full capacity again, _then_ align you with his plans, _or_ just make sure that you don’t get in the way… then all that needs to happen is for the recycling plants to open back up again, pulling at all the spare steel that Brockton has laying around in the Trainyards and the Graveyard. And if the labor first used was from the DWA?”

“Dad would have political power again, _and_ be under Coils’ control,” I finished.

“Yep,” Lisa popped. “I knew you’d figure it out. In fact, if you hadn’t Triggered, you likely never would have known about all of this, unless your dad talked to you about it. But because Coil likes to stack the deck in his favor, you becoming a Parahuman just means that Coil just found another set of ‘pawns’ for his plans. So he’s just finding ways to work you in without tossing away part of his current plans, as anti-Thinkers are useful, to say nothing of getting another cape on his side. I’m just trying to get a few steps ahead of the game by getting to you first, hopefully without Coil noticing because he’s trying to work his way around you.”

“For me, this is a test, to see if I do anything stupid, like use you to betray him to the PRT. But the thing is,” Lisa laughed out. “This is what I was talking about, I don’t think he meant to turn off _all the bugs_ inside your home! He said he would take care of the footage of this meeting, but he can’t because there is none! _That_ , I think is your power at work messing with his, which is the whole reason that we’re even having this conversation; otherwise I would be wearing a mask right now.”

“So you’re basically using me?” I spat in anger. “Because of my power messing with his?”

Lisa lifted her hand up and wobbled it a bit. “It’s more of… a mutually beneficial relationship. I get out from under a _really_ bad boss, and you get to sleep a little easier knowing that no one is out to kill you anymore. Besides, most everyone uses each other in one way or another, even if it’s just to not be a loner for life.”

I gave the blond intruder my best stare, at which she just smiled her fox-grin back.

For a time.

Before she sighed and hung her head for a moment.

“… _ok,_ so I _am_ using you a bit. But to be fair, it’s not as bad as you think it is. Coil isn’t one to rush into things unless he’s forced into it, so you have some time before he makes a move; he likes having all the information before he commits to something. This means that if all goes well, you won’t have to do anything more than keep your head down; just like how you’re doing right now. It’s nothing you shouldn’t be used to.”

“What do you mean?”

Lisa shrugged. “I mean that, no matter what why you look at it, this is how the world works; people just don’t hang, met, or become friends with to just do _that_. From a purely psychological perspective, humans are social creatures, we group up with others to fulfill that need, sometimes it’s for the short term, others for the long term. We might walk away from this all being best friends, or, could never want to see each other’s faces again.”

That stung, not just the raw matter-of-fact way she said it, but for the fact that it reminded me of Emma’s words. We had been friends for _years,_ practically sisters. Yet, in the end, none of that mattered, she still seemingly made it her life’s goal to tear me down in any way she could.

All because she wanted to feel better about herself.

 _“I_ for one want us to be friends,” Lisa continued. “And even though this is a … bit of a rocky start, I hope that as we go along this crazy ride, that you will come to see me as one. I didn’t want my life to end up like this either; working for a man that could kill me, performing crimes, breaking into a strangers home, practically threatening them, but this is the way the cards have fallen for us. Best to run with it and see if we can’t figure out a way to get something good out of it, right?”

… I didn’t know if that was depressing, or uplifting. There was a hint of truth to her words, but at the same time… this whole thing wasn’t something I was happy about, so it was hard to see _any_ ‘silver lining’.

After my mom, dad, Emma, my Trigger… I guess I could consider it lucky that I never once considered ending it all.

“By the way, your dad _is_ really fine, the house was empty when I came in.”

“Really?” I asked, happy to pull my thoughts from a rather dark place. “Then what happened to him? Why isn’t he here right now?”

“You were really lost in thought huh?” Lisa asked with a grin. “There’s no car out front.”

I closed my eyes with a groan. Of course. Something had to have happened with the DWA and he headed in for the day. Something good I hoped. Had to be, otherwise he wouldn’t have left me alone with telling me first, not after everything that had happened.

“What? You think I would knock him out and _then_ move the car?” At this, Lisa gestured toward the kitchen. “He left a note on a covered plate. And based on what it says, my guess is that Coil is making some overtures to him and it’s likely going to involve the ferry. That would fit, both with your dad, and Coil’s agenda, which really is the stereotypical villain ‘take over the city in secret’ kinda thing. He even has a secret underground lair.”

I had to blink twice at that one.

“Those exist?”

“Sure,” Lisa replied. “I even think the PRT has one or two somewhere; speaking of which, you know they’re watching you right? Near constant radio comms between two different teams. Well, more like they’re bored enough to just talk to each other because you haven’t done much.”

Of _course_ I knew I was being watched, I practically blew up my school before telling them that I didn’t want to join their team, just so they could ship me off somewhere else. If they didn’t at least have _someone_ keeping an eye me, then that would be another whole level of incompetence.

And I could understand _why_ what happened _did_ (mostly because of talks with dad about managing people and the issues involved), so I could kinda see _how_ what had happened, _happened_. Which, in turn, made _how_ it happened even more cutting to me.

Because it _shouldn’t_ have. I can get someone not doing their job and fudging a few reports for the sake of looking good and getting money, but for what had happened to actually _happen_ , spoke _volumes_ of the PRT bureaucracy.

And the fact that it happened to _me_ really sank the blade deep. Dad had explained that real life was just like high school; with its good apples and bad, complete with all the little social circles, some of which existed for a reason, others existing only because people decided that it _needed_ to exist.

(the two teams was something that concerned me though, why _two_ teams?)

“No love lost between you then,” Lisa continued. “Figures, given what you did and what they did to you. I had to come in through the back after jumping a few fences to avoid getting spotted by the way.”

… that, I didn’t know. I had figured that they were watching me, I just didn’t know _how much._

“Speaking of which,” Lisa said while standing. “I should get going. Have to leap back over those walls if we don’t want to arouse suspicion. Last bit of advice? Act normal, don’t tell anyone about all of this, and just go about your life. I’ll contact you.”

And with that, she began to walk towards the back door.

“Wait.”

Lisa paused on her way out, glancing over her shoulder at me.

For a moment, I fidgeted, unsure if I should ask this given what we’d… _I’d,_ been saying but…

“You never said why you were doing this. I mean, I’m grateful,” _if it is all true and you didn’t toss me under the bus,_ was my unspoken thought. “But… you didn’t need to see me for your plan to work, you even said as much. So why even talk to me about it? Why risk getting me pissed at you,” which I totally was, and she _had_ to know it. “Just to basically tell me that my life was in danger?”

Lisa looked at me for several seconds, before sighing. “To be honest… yeah, I didn’t need to. You simply going about your day would have worked fine. But… I got two real reasons in doing this.” she bit her lip for a moment, and I was struck by how sudden that seemed to shift her personality. The entire time that we were speaking, she was in control. Now, however?

“… I like to have back-up plans,” she admitted. “Coil is slippery, and I’m pretty sure I can nail him, but if you know about what’s going on, even if it’s frankly terrifying, then I should get a little more wiggle room in how to deal with him. Who knows, maybe you’ll be my unseen trump card in taking in him down.”

She beamed at me with her next sentence. “After all, you now have a vested interest in wanting Coil to be taken down as well, which means that you’ll help out if I ask.”

Fuck you too Lisa.

“And as for the other reason?”

I cocked my head to the side as Lisa turned away, moving to open up the back door.

“… let's just say that I wished someone had helped me figure things out, like I’m helping you figure them out.”

And with that cryptic comment, she left.


	16. 2.9 Rolling Guard

The hideout being empty was perfect for Lisa, it allowed her to plan and research in peace.

Brian was out, taking care of things he needed to do for his sister, Alec had gone out for food and to cool off after losing at his game (he had told Lisa not to expect him to get anything for her), Bitch was taking care of her dogs, and Chariot (aka Trevor Medina, their newest member) was out-

_Works for Coil, recruited some time ago, same the rest of the Undersiders; Loyal to Coil, supporting him with tech and supplies for Tinkering and protecting his family; was told to watch Lisa, thinks she is cute, unlikely to ask her out based on know-it-all attitude-_

-Getting Tinker supplies and visiting his family.

This all meant that the young woman was able to spread all of her notes and paperwork across the table that she had commandeered, without anyone complaining.

Not that it would have stopped her, but it meant that she didn’t have to sit and argue over whether she needed all the space; an argument that she would have won, but still.

Most people would take one look at the mess of papers and see nothing but just that: a mess: but with Lisa’s power, she could easily pull whatever info she wanted from the piles of paper with but a glance. Same as her laptop, it was written in a code that was mostly gibberish, but she could pull the meanings out with a simple look.

Lisa was actually trying to multitask, something she could manage, but still hard, even for her. On one hand, she was trying to gather more information on Coil so she could put her ‘plan’ into action to get him buried six feet deep; on the other hand, she was both tallying up the Undersiders last big job, hitting the Ruby Dreams casino, and working on what their next job would be.

She even had The Nexus running in the background (a guilty pleasure, it was always nice to listen to the Hosts on that site, particularly Tin Mother), and set to one of the music Streams; not very helpful, but the wildly different songs they played always seemed to help her power run more effectively (even if it meant that she would get a Thinkers Headache faster).

Her current issue, however, was that Coil (aka Strike Commander Thomas Calvert of the PRT) wanted them to do another job, any job, nothing specific. _Yet._ Just that it would happen sometime in early April.

Which was strange, not just in that Coil had given her basically given her over a week, maybe even three, more or less-

_Likely early April; confident, spoke as if date was already known; knows date already. Several events happening in the city require Protectorate presence; job is likely to be used as a distraction given openness. Spoke quickly, mind on other matters, nervous; something has happened, effecting current plans. Likely involves Taylor Hebert given interest in her._

-to plan, something that he had _never_ done before (usually it was just a few days at best) but he also sounded harried. Lisa didn’t _exactly_ know how or why Coil had figured out that Taylor was messing with his power, but she did know that Coil firmly believed it and was making plans to deal with it; with or _without_ Lisa’s help.

Which he was, demanding her help, that was. With his power on the fritz (something he was taking great pains not to show, but she wasn’t quite able to have the time she needed to confirm what his power was doing, with him using the other side of their ‘deal’ via information gathering, offering up payment for that and giving other jobs to be done by the Undersiders at the same time), Coil was making quick but subtle moves. Something done here, a job there, a ‘request’ here _and_ there.

The best that Lisa could figure, Coil was figuring ways around Taylor; though it would help if she knew what her power was doing to his. It would make planning around Coil much easier, or at least give her some points of reference for what she could work with.

Speaking of which, Lisa felt a glimmer of guilt over running circles around the other girl, Taylor honestly had no idea what was going on and wanted nothing more than to move on with her life. Alas, it was not to be.

It didn’t help that Taylor's house was free of bugs. Why? Lisa honestly had no idea, but after discovering that and finding the box that had once contained a phone, sent from _Dragon_ no less, made the Hebert household into an opportunity that she couldn’t miss.

After all, what better way to get some possible Protectorate help than to get the organizations best Tinker's attention?

Because a phone was a perfect place for both a tracking device, as well as something to listen in on the user; particularly for things like an underling of a known criminal talking to a person that was ‘under observation.’

Sure, maybe it was a mistake to give her ‘real’ name out, but she could always change it later. Plus, with the PRT looking for ‘Lisa,’ they wouldn’t be looking for Sarah.

It helped that she was factoring in the PRT ‘helping,’ and that if she arranged her cards right after Coil was dealt with, the Undersiders would walk away as Rogues for hire (aiming for the less…controversial, jobs of course), or as Independents under the umbrella of the Guild.

She just needed to stay one step ahead of the PRT, the Protectorate, Coil, hell, even Danny Hebert was someone she needed to keep an eye on. All so that, when the time came, she could put a bullet in Calvert’s brain.

Because if the PRT got ahold of him first, then there was a chance that he’d escape, seeking revenge on her later.

_ “-and that was a song from our own Earth Bet, by Bytsteam. Currently it’s-” _

Tall order, especially considering that looking into Taylor’s files (under Coil’s own orders, no less) had given her the idea in the first place. It was barely a hint of a plan, one that needed a bit of refinement sure, given the factors involved, but…

She just needed to do some more research first.

As for Coil’s ‘request’ (not a request, never a request with him), that could be put on the back burner. She’d spoken to Taylor, even if it wasn’t the words that Coil wanted her to speak, which could be a problem when he came a-calling; she would just have to lie her ass off if he asked too many questions.

For _her_ plans, however… Lisa smiled, because some of her explanations to Taylor on why she hadn’t been killed by Coil or tossed under the bus, in one way or another, were not only true, but was something that now held an important part of her _own_ plans.

Danny Hebert, of the Dock Workers Association. On paper, the head of hiring and the spokesperson for the Union, in reality, however, Danny was basically the head of the whole organization.

The actual head had all but moved on into politics during the course of the years of lobbying to keep the DWA going and was set in case the group finally ground to a halt. This meant that Danny was, in fact, in charge of roughly two thousand people on a semi-daily basis. Granted, a little over half of those numbers were simply card-holders that had other jobs but came in for something Dock-related if the work was offered, while somewhere in the range of half of the remainder set were the ones that actually still _worked_ at the Docks on a scheduled basis, with the rest simply being workers that came in looking for job openings for the day/week/month.

In the grand scheme of things the numbers didn’t support long term survival for the DWA, but given that the crash of the Docks due to the workers’ strikes (and having the beached ship blocking the mouth of the bay, cause and effect and all that) had resulted in everything from factories to businesses shutting down (and only the influx of other white-collar businesses, Medhall for example, was what saved Brockton Bay from _total_ economic collapse), meant that a lot of blue-collar workers were out of a job.

Luckily, Tāwhirimātea had passed through the Bay years ago, and in its wake left equal parts destruction and creation.

Whole fields of flowers sprung up almost overnight as the Endbringer fertilized the lands, even as whole streets were flooded by the waters. Many households used their pre-bought seeds to set up small farms in their backyards. Everything from apple trees to eggplants were rapidly grown in the soil; even the skyscrapers set up community farms on their roofs.

_ “-or common as the time goes by, it almost seems like people are getting tired of the corporate music agencies. These small-time indie bands are raking in-” _

Of course, this meant construction and repairs from damages from the flooding and electrical shorts. The city couldn’t cover everything, so they outsourced where they could.

Even the common phonebook contractor was hard at work, for even in a place with a mild climate like the Bay certain crops would not grow without shade or support; which in turn meant workers were needed to do the construction beyond simple stakes, planters, and trellises.

Same went for the Docks, as old buildings found new life as local workshops for the construction, and markets popped up to sell said crops, with everything from food, fresh fish from the cleaned bay and ocean, to even woodworking and other odds and ends being sold by enthusiastic entrepreneurs. A few places were even set aside for hydroponics, both for plants for places like Medhall for their pharmaceuticals and for a new demand for locally grown organic crops.

But with the collapse of the Docks years ago and the subsequent exodus of blue-collar workers, there just wasn’t enough people to do those jobs, even with the city reaching out to find those willing, and capable, of working and repairing what had been damaged.

Except for in the decaying Brockton Bay Dock Workers Association.

It wasn’t so much that the organization had the numbers (they had been gutted years ago and were simply bleeding out at this point), it was the fact that even though the toughest times, the DWA kept in contact with one another. As jobs started showing up, the group's members started reaching out to old friends to get them done; the links of companionship and bonds formed through blood, sweat, and hard labor connecting people together, even years later.

These factors added up to the point that the DWA became the to-go place for a job that needed to be done, or for work to be found.

And that was due in part to one Danny Hebert.

People remembered the man, working just as hard as the men who lifted crates for a living did, fighting for contacts, for the ferry to be reestablished (it did, partly; it only ran on a single ship four times a day, with another two during the night for shipping), fighting to keep the workers’ jobs in the Bay, even when it seemed like it was hopeless.

But after the Stormbringer passed by, everything changed.

With the Bay’s location, shipping took a bit of an upturn, hampered only by the cargo ship stuck in the mouth of the bay and the damaged tracks of the trainyard.

In the surrounding countryside around Brockton, even more crops could be grown, drawing in smalltime companies, eager for expansion. With the fresh Endbringer cleaned soil growing crops, it meant that some prepared people living in the Bay needed to spend that little less on more food, which in turn attracted companies to take that excess, prepare it, package it, and ship it out.

With the trainyards (partly) coming back online, and hopefully the removal of old ships in the Boat Graveyard, even more crops and supplies could be moved out of the city. And with infrastructure being built to support this, it would hopefully allow for production to continue even as the soil began to lose its Endbringer ‘purification’ and ‘enhancement’ in the following months.

Every bit of this meant that Brockton needed good, qualified workers for the city, as they did not have enough within the cities worker and unions to start laying the groundwork to entice possible businesses in.

Again, enter the DWA; the men and women who had been struggling to get by, repairing the actual dock areas of the Docks, as well as been helping out in keeping the few factories running.

They were a joint package, the DWA members had been working their hardest to make sure their jobs were done one hundred and ten percent, to further their reputation so that people would think of them as reliable and offer them more jobs in the future, and Danny had been working just as hard in getting contracts for said jobs; talking to the city, bidding for contacts, checking over contacts to make sure that they weren’t covers for the more shady citizens of the city, making sure that the Dock works still got paid and got their benefits.

Most of the unions in the city knew of Danny Hebert, and he was a semi-regular fixture in city hall, doing everything he could to keep the DWA, and its people, alive and well.

And when Tāwhirimātea flew over the city, with all the water damage, the repairs, the need for construction, people _remembered_ the DWA and Danny Hebert; and so, the contracts flowed in, as the city received offers and contacts for businesses and looked upon what _could_ be, instead of what was.

Hope in the city flared up as old warehouses were looked over and cleaned, several businesses in talks with the city for places to set down roots.

Even the scrap from the Graveyards, both the boats and trains, were being eyed for use; a factory just needed to be set up.

In fact, Brockton had an old metalworking plant, it just needed to be repaired and updated, but it could have been up and working in under a year.

All of this led to a resurgence of old values and actions not seen for decades; people spoke to their neighbors on a daily basis, street fairs and regular meet-ups, formed from the surge of fresh food and the spike of small arts and crafts to accompany said markets, happened often in old buildings. Some even showed up on residential streets.

_ “-xt song is by a group over in Earth Aleph, don’t ask how we got it though. They started out in Icela-” _

It seemed like Brockton would get it’s feet back under it, as the rain helped shift a number of old boats of the beaches, which in turn meant that workers became hard at work to remove them lest they drift into the bay more, hopeful that the shipping industry would rise back up because of it. The fact that new buildings were being put in place meant jobs would be (hopefully) opening up for them.

A simple cycle, of jobs opening up to be done to make new jobs, which fed itself in slow, regular motions.

But it wasn’t to be, for while the rains of Tāwhirimātea had helped purify the waters and soil of the Bay, it did little to solve the underlying rot present in the bedrock.

Even as food was being grown, so were drugs, hidden away from sight, causing an explosion in production of product for the gangs in the city. This, in turn, led to an increase in crime as the product was moved and protected from other gangs. Which in turn meant that the police got more involved in areas, as the new markets got hit by both petty thieves, or were ‘protected’ by the gangs; this again, in turn, brought the Protectorate in as powered gang members were brought forth.

Plus, the Merchants had been an issue from the beginning, none of them liking the fact that what they viewed as ‘theirs’ was being checked out by ‘outsiders.’

The cops taking more time to deal with the druggies wasn’t helping matters, either.

This lead to the Merchants pushing back against the restoration of the Docks, their ‘home,’ which resulted in what one would expect.

PRT officers and members of the Protectorate clashed multiple times with Skidmark and Squealer, resulting in several buildings being outright destroyed by the Tinker’s ‘vehicles.’ Deaths happened from gunfire from the villain's followers, several being random passersby.

This all made people more wary about the new building projects.

From there everything snowballed downhill.

Other areas than Brockton had gotten hit by Tāwhirimātea, and many weren’t as… downtrodden as Brockton Bay. So, the business that were eyeing the Docks areas moved on; even if they lost the train routes and the easy sea access, they weren’t worth the cost of having the unholy child of a big rig, a tank, and a monster truck plow through the building.

One by one, other business followed, which led to the city become less active in the Docks because there was no longer a reason to fight over it. Plus, while the focus had been on the Merchants, the Empire and the ABB moved to exchange blows, pulling attention further away from protecting ‘potential’ reconstruction.

It all trickled down from there.

_ “-nough about the band, what you lot want  _ Rap _to hear is the song! So le-”_

The markets were all but abandoned and the citizens began to fear once more, from the Merchants, seeking an easy hit, to the Empire, pushing everyone that wasn’t white out of ‘their’ markets. The hope of new jobs from factories dried up, as the decision was made to settle elsewhere, someplace with _out_ gangs fighting over it.

Any good economist would have seen it coming. The jump-start from Tāwhirimātea wasn’t enough to stabilize the city, it was all a placebo; the industrial base was just too far gone for a single surge of renovation to restore. There just wasn’t a foundation for the attempted recovery of Brockton bay, and so it all fell apart in a little over a year.

Remnants remained however, some of the factories remained online, the DWA-controlled areas expanded to deal with the new exports and imports. Some of the train lines were put back to use, as well as some of the docks themselves. There were even a few markets still active, most of them in ABB territory, who took advantage of the (temporarily) rising economy to bring some of their culture back from the dead.

Of course, this meant that the Empire (and to a far lesser degree, the Merchants) started stepping up their game. All of them soon started vying for the floundering DWA positions, as well as seeking to take the areas that they ‘controlled.’

And while Danny worked hard to keep the gangs separate from the DWA, even as the organizations power started to fade once more, it was hard to do when supplies still needed to be shipped in and out from the city, and from the new Asian District. He couldn’t push aside _all_ the contacts that came his way, he needed to keep the DWA up and running after all.

Plus, given the man’s reputation, and the reputation of the DWA in general, there was still an influx of people going down to the DWA offices looking for jobs, which meant that Danny needed to try and supply those people with said jobs, if only to keep the DWA afloat and in a position of power.

All of this worked perfectly for Lisa, as it meant, provided that Coils information was right-

_It was._

-then she would have yet another card to play against the snake-themed villain, as well as gain some leverage against the Protectorate.

‘Course, getting the right plan together would take some doing; Coil was not considered much of a threat by most for a reason.

_ “-eping me awake. It's the house  _ Tap _telling you to close your ey-”_

Blocking Coil from gaining more power was a step, one that Lisa could do easily; she just needed to make sure to cover her involvement.

Doing this would mean that Coil would have to expend more effort and time in getting control over the city, allowing Lisa to (hopefully) maneuver others into position to again delay or even derail Coil.

Sure, if she played her cards right, she would be able to get the PRT to do this all for her, but Lisa really didn’t want to become a laptop to the PRT.

Part of it had to do with the fact that she _liked_ her team, even with their flaws. Another (slightly bigger) reason was that she just liked being a free agent more than working under someone (expressly someone like **_Coil_** ).

Plus, if the PRT didn’t manage to get the damn snake, then there was a chance that he would go after her.

And if the PRT _did_ catch Coil, then Lisa would miss her opportunity to put a bullet in Thomas Calvert’s head.

Or at least give the order for someone to do it.

(Plus, she knew that the PRT would just squander the resources that Coil had; she could do _so_ much more with it)

It also helped that whatever Taylor was doing seemed to be messing with Coil’s power, to the point that Lisa was _actually_ going through with her high-risk plan. She never would have done this if Coil was working at one hundred percent.

But now… he was _making_ _mistakes_ ; and not just little ones, either.

One thing that Lisa had noticed when working with Coil was how sure of his orders he was, as if he _knew_ how things would go, or had a plan in place to make things go his way.

From her ‘recruitment’ (and she still felt chills over how easily he backed her, _her,_ into a corner, finding out who she was and _where_ she was), to her team, to even what jobs they did, Coil clearly had a Thinker Power. A good one too.

It was little things, tiny really, to the point Lisa almost thought Coil was losing it. But her power… her power was saying something else.

Like he would ask for her to do something, then be surprised when she did it, or having slightly different information than her, or even changing his orders right in the middle of a mission, or being surprised by things she’d done (on his own orders, no less).

It was almost as if he whatever Thinker power he had was messing up or messing with him.

_ “-ell her that I miss our little  _ Tap _talks; Soon it will all be over, and bur-”_

Frankly, Lisa was surprised that he was even _letting_ Taylor _live_. She thought for sure that he would have had her killed by now, but at the same time…

Coil was nothing if not a planner, she hadn’t lied about that to Taylor. That didn’t mean that Coil could change his mind on a whim and still have her killed in a moment however.

But, hopefully, she could get her plan fleshed out and working before that happened.

(Because it was mostly an idea at this point, one that needed to have its individual parts checked before it could be put together)

All she needed was for things to work out _just_ right and…

_“Careful Little Mouse, or else you’ll get caught in your own trap.”_

Lisa blinked at her smiling self who was sitting backwards on the couch, the maniacal grin being made further off putting by the glowing eyes.

_“What would you do then, hmm? Coil doesn’t take betrayal lightly, we both know that.”_

As the figures voice finished its reverberations around the room, it took several moments for Lisa to react, moments she spent open mouthed and staring. With a click of her teeth, she shifted her face into her normal grin, even as she glanced around the room.

_ “-on't know if I am wrong or right; Your mind is playing tricks on you m-” _

“Well, this is unexpected,” she began, crossing her legs and placing her hands on her knee, all to hide the fact she was reaching for the gun underneath the table. “I like the look, but yo-”

Eyes widened, as her power began to work on overtime, pulling information from the room. In the background, the song from The Nexus continued to play.

_“Aww, but the Little Mouse has already been caught.”_

A smile, unnatural, despite the face it was attached to. A tilt of the head, hair swishing silently as it shifted in place.

_“So now the Little Mouse seeks a way out of the labyrinth, while still clinging to her stolen cheese.”_

There was a _flicker_ of dark light, as Lisa’s double moved from the couch, to lounging across the table in front of her. Behind it, a trail of black tendrils wisped through the air for but a moment, before they faded into nothingness.

_“But you’re a clever one, aren’t you? Wonder what you’d do…”_

Inquisitive, eyes seeing her, but never shifting. The figure laughed, _sharp, quick;_ a child’s laugh, carefree, yet… menacing in a way that no child should be.

_“I might just keep an eye on you, Little Mouseketeer. It will be interesting to see what alignment you take.”_

The eyes… like pits of black, with a golden star burning within the center, held Lisa’s gaze, pulling her into their dep...

“What are you doing?”

Lisa spun, nearly falling out of her chair. At the door to their hideout, Alec pulled his head back a bit and lifted an eyebrow at her sudden movement. A quick glance showed that her double had vanished, gone just as easy as it had appeared.

“You ok there?” he asked dubiously as he eyed her.

Lisa op-

_-uchmadetat didn’teat hasslumpincenter Bitchforgot vistinsecret Sonybrand Brianwouldfreak Coilplanningkidnapping carfulwithtoys bugintv cakeoftru-_

-clutched her head as _pain_ just _washed_ over her **_brain._**

To her, it felt like something had just crawled inside her head, and was making a bed of her grey matter.

_ “The screams all sound the same; Hey!” _

“… you’re not all right.” Alec half asked as Lisa groaned. “Well, that’s what you get for staring off into space and letting your power go wild.”

As her fellow Undersider walked past her-

_-nwaytoea-_

-and the table, Lisa staggered to her feet, hands holding tight to her head, as if she could contain the pounding within.

“I would offer you pain meds,” Alec continued. “But I know you have some somewhere, and that they don’t work with Thinker headaches. Hey, can I change the station on the Nexus?”

_-isconcerned, worryedabouther; doesn’tknow/howtoshowit; believesshewillrecover-_

… darkness, that was what she needed, a small place where she couldn’t see anything to use her power on. The blessed sanctity of her room beckoned…

…Which had notes everywhere, papers, blueprints, hidden files. Lisa practically slammed the door when she shut it, and the bolt of pain in her hand as she all but punched her light switch in trying to turn off the source of light…

_-willcall Brian; doesn’twant this tofallonhim-_

… and near instantly regretted that decision. For while the lack of light made it harder to user her power, it also meant she nearly dove face-first into the floor when she slammed her shin into something.

Operating on memory, Lisa managed to flop herself into her bed, then rolled herself up in the plush blanket.

It wasn’t _quite_ enough to completely turn off her power, but it was enough that she could lessen the tightened shackles she had put on it.

A few seconds of her power reviewing what little it could find around her and then it began to settle down a bit.

… though it might had been an hour for how Lisa was feeling, the upside was that it helped distract her from the unsettling meeting she just had with herself.

For a time.

But as her headache faded, the sounds of Alec playing his video games (but at a reduced volume, see Brian, he wasn’t a _complete_ psychopath!), as well as sounds of her some of her other teammates showing up, her thoughts began to spin that way.

… before she was Lisa, back when she was _Sarah,_ when she was but just a kid, back when Reggie was still alive, she had a favorite hero. Most did, it wasn’t uncommon or anything, nor was her pick.

After all, Mouse Protector was a popular hero no matter what way you looked at her.

Reggie had called her _Little Mouseketeer_ after a stint involving a store-bought costume; but it had been _years_ since she’d heard the nickname.

And while the fact that her double had known about that greatly unsettled her (such an understatement), it wasn’t nearly as bad as what her power had told her.

Or rather, what her power **_hadn’t_** told her.

Lisa now had a pounding Thinker _migraine,_ knew everything about the state of the couch, the tv, where damage was in the walls, who Alec had been with (distantly, Lisa realized she needed to check that one out, Brian wouldn’t be happy with it, but Alec seemed to be better for it), some details about the work she was doing which was _very_ disturbing…

But for the figure that she just spent a minute talking to?

_Rap_

Nothing.

_Tap_

It was like her power…

_Tap_

… didn’t even see it.


	17. Assault Mode

_February 2nd, 2001_

_Ellisburg_

* * *

_“Flare!” Evan shouted._

_There was a brief whistle as the flare speared up towards the sky. As if in response, one of the beasts perched in a window frame spat a glob of caustic goo at them._

_Shane went down screaming, smoke pouring off him as his suit was consumed and the acid reached his flesh._

_They couldn’t afford to stop. Evan fired a single bullet through Shane’s skull without slowing his run. Holler got the thing in the window. It exploded violently, globs of acid spraying through the area to steadily eat away at the surrounding architecture._

_Evan reloaded, all too aware of how quickly he was going through magazines. Lady was covering their retreat with foam, but the foam would run out._

_One of the helicopters had approached, laying down additional foam to help. There were no safe places here, no places to find cover. The best they could hope for was to get to a spot they could evacuate from. There wasn’t a living soul left in the city, nobody to save._

_The sound of the explosions had drawn the attention of others. They were pouring from nearby buildings. Concentrated rifle fire tore through their ranks, but did little to stem the overall tide._

_“Captain!” Lady shouted._

_He turned to see that she was all right, then saw what she was pointing at. One of the things, a pear-shaped woman with thick legs and no arms, was standing with her legs shaking from strain as she virtually spewed a mess of creatures out onto the ground. They clawed and bit their way free of the sacs that held them and wasted no time in starting to crawl, lurch and run towards his squad._

_Holler gunned the mother-thing down before she could finish or spew more abominations from between her loins._

_Things were clicking into place. It made sense, now, how the situation had gotten out of control so quickly. How Rinke had seized the city so totally and absolutely. It wasn’t just that he was a master-class cape who could make monsters with abilities of their own. He could make monsters that bred, monsters that gave birth to more monsters._

_“Flare!”_

_Holler fired another flare into the sky._

_Evan reached for his radio, shouting at the top of his lungs to be heard over the gunfire, even his own gunfire. “Squad two needs an evac, stat! We just sent a flare up! Where are those capes!?”_

_“Helicopters one and two down, squad two. Your capes vacated the scene.”_

“Incorrect,” came a voice over the comms. Male, it was a scratchy, echoey tone, marked by electronic interference. Evan didn’t know it.

“They were ordered out.”

“What do you mean _they were ordered out_!?” Evan cried back as he gunned down a winged beast that was trying to swoop down on them from overhead.

“Helicopter three is your best bet for extraction,” the voice continued. “They are currently providing support to squad three north of your position; **_you should get to them qUIckly…_** My Operator should be there to assist momentarily.”

“You heard the man. Move!” Questions could be asked later, Evan realized. He had his team to worry about _now._

They didn’t get to move before the ground rumbled. A clawed hand speared up through the pavement, nearly catching Tieu by the leg. The pavement strained and cracked as whatever was beneath tried to break the surface, the hand grasping at the surface and leaving groves as it did so.

They bypassed it, Tieu waiting a moment before launching a grenade back at it.

A second grenade round cleared away one more crowd, and they hurried through the gap.

_Four of us left._

Without Coldiron, they only had a single grenade launcher, limiting how fast they could deal with the massed crowds.

“Holler, need ammo!”

Lady directed a stream at the nearest crowd, aiming the spray at their heads, so any spray that missed would catch the ones who stood behind them. When one tipped forward, the expanding foam served to create a barrier that caught others.

Holler pulled off his bag, handing out magazines. Evan tucked away the ammunition as fast as it entered his hand, pausing only to reload and shoot down the creatures closest to them.

He turned his head as he heard a voice.

“-Eat! Eat!”

“Go!”

They’d defaulted to a four-man squad, bounding tactics, but fast and loose in the execution.

Lady was the center point; the foam would block off areas or cover the rear. From there Evans would lead getting to a spot that Lady would move up to without getting slowed down. He alternated with Holler and Tieu, covering each other to cover Lady.

The voice…

A laugh. Not the gibbering noise of the creatures, but all too human.

He spotted the culprit. A man, potbellied and hunchbacked. The style of dress was similar to the patchwork brute they’d fought first, with bright, contrasting colors that he couldn’t quite make out in the gloom. There were jarring patterns with stripes here and checkers there. He wore a cloth crown, and his cloth mask featured beads for eyes and a perpetual leer of a smile.

Rinke.

“Rinke!” he screamed the word. He took aim and fired.

He hit his mark. The man went down, and the creatures wheeled on him, screaming, squealing. If he’d had any doubt about his target, the reaction dispelled it.

Then he saw Rinke stand.

“You would shoot me!?” Rinke roared. If anything, his voice was all the more terrifying because it sounded so small, so human. “I create life! I am a go…”

Rinke was cut short as dozens of rounds poured into him. A cape, all but flying as they launched themselves off of a nearby building, rifle blazing at Rinke.

Pure white armor, which faded to green at the ends of its arms and puffed up feet. Some kind of gold design lined the figure's arms and was in place at the hips, sticking out like a kind of knob on those last two parts. her neck was extended by golden rings, reminding Evans of some pictures of women in Africa. On its shoulders and shins, three wing-like extensions stuck out to the sides and back, colored a mix of white and green. Bit of golden energy flowed from the two circler positions on the back of the near featureless curved helmet, replicated by the two vent-like protrusions on its upper back.

Golden orbs floated all around it, dozens of them, and one of them suddenly shot off to peg one of the creatures in the face. It died in an explosion that took most of its upper body with it.

Rinke fell, and dozens of his creations threw themselves on top of him blocking the shots. Some of the ones even attaching Evans squad turned and ran back, making all the easier to target the ones that were a threat.

The new cape landed in the midst of a mass of the creatures, and suddenly dozens of them died, limbs, torsos and even heads flying everywhere as the cape craved a path through them.

Evan caught a glimpse of a blade, thin, black, nearly transparent, as it sliced effortlessly though a creature, and then three more in a single strike.

“Watch your eyes.”

The voice held a radio-type tilt to it, staticky, and utterly calm. The newcomer launched themselves high into the air as it and flicked out a hand, gold lining the back of its fingers reflecting from the fading flare.

An orb appeared, blue, swirling like fast running water, a trail of blue-white motes floating after it. It spun and traveled down, the capes gun pouring fire down upon it as it flew towards the mass that covered Rinke.

The female voice spoke again, six words, calm, _measured_.

“No such thing as gods.”

Then the orb hit.

The shockwave knocked Evan to the ground, one of his squad hitting him on the way.

Ears ringing, Evan pulled himself up. There was nothing left where Rinke was but a crater.

At first, he thought the ringing wasn’t going away as he took aim once more, but then it realized that it was something else. Something far more worrying that hearing damage.

Every one of the creatures was yelling, crying, keening, shouting, moaning. They mixed into a racket that drew a shiver down Evans's spine. Then they charged.

It was different, less contained, if one could say that. They no longer cared about what was in their way as they came at the squad, some even striking at their own in their haste to get to them.

Lady did what she could to suppress the enemy’s approach, laying down the foam, but there were too many, and their irregular sizes and shapes made it impossible to cover all of them with the foam. If she aimed high, she missed the little ones. If she aimed low the bigger ones leaped over and others walked on top of the ones who’d become stuck.

A spine caught him in the midsection. Before he could react, another struck home. They penetrated his armor to stab into his stomach like hot knives. He caught a glimpse at one of the bastards that was spitting the things at him, gunned it down from his spot on the ground before it could shoot again.

He could hear the helicopter’s approach, knew it was too late. They were too on top of the squad, the helicopter would face the fate of the others if they set down.

“Ring!” he gasped out the word. He could barely breathe, couldn’t move. Felt like a weight was sitting on his chest, every word he uttered came out thinner than the last. “Circle us, make it hig-”

One of the winged flyers, unseen by the simple fact they had forgotten to look up, dropped down on Lady. She screamed as the beast drove her down to the ground face first, pinning her as it tried to cut through her armor with vicious looking claws and get around the tank she wore.

Holler rushed past, bypassing Evan on the ground. He understood. Without the sprayer, they would be overrun.

Evan dropped a magazine as he tried to reload and reached for another. He glanced over in time to see Holler go down, but it took him a moment to see why. The flyer had brought smaller ones, most no bigger than a handspan, carrying them on itself no doubt. They swarmed over Holler, picking at the gaps in his armor, the joints. Sharp claws digging past the armor and finding flesh underneath.

Suddenly dozens of the creatures surrounding them died in moments, cut down by the flash of rounds. The new cape _slid_ into the middle of the group, the last few orbs spinning off into the crowd, grasping Holler by the back of his neck and tossed him aside. He hit the ground and rolled, no doubt painfully, but it dislodged most of the creatures on the man.

Several more of the horde died to Even’s fire, but it was hard to breathe at this point. Even harder to reload.

He was having a hard time breathing at _all_. Had one of the spines caught him in the diaphragm?

They were relentless, never-ending, single-mindedly moving forward. A hoard of eyes and misshapen bodies.

Then they would get cut down by the figure, its reloads so fast that all he saw was the blurring of its oddly shaped gun as it twisted in place to hit every target and any target. Not the spray of panic fire, no.

This was measured, _precise_. Bigger ones were targeted to block the littler ones with the bodies. Flyers plucked out of the air with but three rounds, falling to the ground with missing heads and torsos.

During one reload, the top-mounted drum flicking into the night, one creature leapt onto its back as it turned, biting down on the shoulder with a mouth lined with needle-like teeth.

The cape calmly reached over and popped its now toothless head like a grape in a single hand, never letting up the fire with the other.

It was female, Evan noted suddenly. The curves on her chest faint, but there, just under a glowing symbol.

 _She_ was single-handedly keeping the squad alive.

“No, stop and hold there. Twist thirty degrees to the right and prepare to receive wounded.”

Her voice came in over the radio, and Evan realized that the helicopter was hovering nearby.

“Just do it, all four need medical attention _now_ and you have no time to land _._ You might be able to save three if you fly fast afterwards. _I’ll_ get them to _you_.”

The helicopter stopped and twisted in place. The cape spun, her hand flicking out once more.

It was like being on a drug trip. A rectangle, red and rippling, frayed at the edges, appeared in place in front of the cape. It swirled inwards, giving the appearance of it being 3d on the inside. From it, a wavering flickering string of light lead up, to the hovering helicopter.

There was a dull _Twam-up_ as Lady was thrown through by the cape, her tank removed and embedded into the attacking flyers face with _force_. The cape put several rounds into the tank as it crashed into a crowd, and it exploded into a mass of foam.

Lady vanished and Evan could hear shouts of surprise coming over the comms.

Holler staggered over, holding up Tieu, who wasn’t moving, gun in his other hand belting out fire.

One second, they were standing there, in front of the portal, the next they were gone.

Then the cape was beside him, reaching forward with one hand to just _snap_ the spears off where they entered the armor.

He must have yelled because the cape spoke.

“You still feel pain, good. You might still live. _Brace_.”

Then he was airborne, flying through the air towards the portal. He expected a transition, a feeling of movement.

Instead, one second he was in the middle of a fight on the ground, dozens, if not hundreds of creatures closing in. The next? He was landing painfully on the floor of the helicopter, grunting.

There was seven of them inside. One of them must have been the gunner that stayed behind with the helicopter. Three of the others were his team. He didn’t know about the last two, survivors of another team?

Two of them were giving medical assistance, and they dragged Evan away from the door, past the sitting Holler, to where Lady was lying face down.

The helicopter moved, and just in time. One of the creatures popped into existence from the portal, slamming into the side of the helicopter. It fell away to the ground below. The second one was luckier.

It grabbed on the helicopter, its overly long arms scrambling for a grip. Claws hooked around the edge of the door, and it swung in, howling with inhuman chitters.

Holler was the closest and it reached for him. He gave the three-foot-tall creature a boot to its face and it wrapped a claw around his ankle and kicked back towards the door.

Sharp claws tore into flesh and the creature yanked its way back inside. It dragged its way up Holler and the man staggered to his feet, fighting the creature as it tore into him.

There was shouting from the pilot, and the helicopter shuttered from another impact. A spear of bone shot through the side of the heil. One of the uninjured troopers calmly grabbed a rifle and emptied the magazine into the wall next to and around the spear.

Holler was being helped by the other, both of them struggling to get the creature off of the man.

Evan realized that he didn’t have his gun. Their armor would have taken the impacts.

The second trooper staggered back from a blow to the face, scratches forming on the faceplate, then hitting the floor hard from a misstep. They didn’t get up, but they still moved. Alive, but out of the fight.

Holler slammed the splitting beast against the wall, twice, before twisting around and trying it on the other side with a run. The pilot was yelling something again and Holler staggered in another direction. Evan noted detachedly that the creature having a hand all but embedded into his side.

Towards the open door.

They both vanished as they tumbled outside.

Then it was quiet. The trooper that had grabbed the gun staggered over to help the other up and then they got to work on the others.

A bandage was pressed into his gut, and his hand was forced on top of it.

“What about the cape?” Evan found himself asking.

“She told us to go. We left.”

The trooper turned away to help with Lady, the back portions of her armor ripped open and both of them working hard to stem the bleeding.

Three teams of six, reduced to just six total. Seven, if you counted the pilot. All from what? Less than an hour-long mission?

Evan realized that he should feel something more about this, but he was just… numb.

“Whoa! Hold on.”

_Now what?_

“Helicopter three to perimeter teams, be advised. My instruments just went haywire, and the stick is sluggish. I’ll try to keep her in the air but be ready for an emergency lan-”

A thunderous explosion sounded outside, rattling the airframe. The helicopter jumped and shifted, and Evan found himself sliding towards the front of the helicopter.

Very fast in fac-

Darkness.

* * *

The room only held three people, four if you counted the teleconference from Watchdog.

“How are the six recovering?” this, from Chief-Director Costa-Brown. The one that requested, _demanded_ , this meeting. In front of her, a scattering of reports lay, all focused on what happened in Ellisburg just two days previous.

“Two are still in surgery, last I heard,” This was from the PRT officer. He stood at attention, leftover from his time as an army captain.

“One of them wasn’t expected to make it. Thomas Calvert will be facing charges after we’ve gotten everything in order. Another is in a coma, and one is going to be wheelchair-bound for the rest of his life. The last is doing well, but will have scars on her face unless she goes for the plastic surgery.”

“And Ellisburg?”

“We’re still picking through what little remains.” This one wasn’t PRT, but part of the civilian support teams. The background workers, as it were. They gave extra hands wherever they were needed, freeing up the PRT troopers to do the dangerous work.

“But… there isn’t much left of the town.”

“People are concerned,” spoke the PR rep for this meeting. Not Costa-Browns usual choice, she was out sick with food poisoning. Her subordinate would have to do.

“The shockwave was detected internationally, through seismometers. At first, it was worry that Behemoth was coming to the surface, but as more information started to come in, things started to get better. And _worse_.”

“We’ll focus on that later, for now we need to understand exactly what happened there. Is this report accurate on the trooper’s testimonies?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“It states that the cape that showed up told the troopers that the Protectorate capes were ordered to leave the area. But no such order was given.”

There was a pause in the room and Rebecca looked up to glance around the room.

“If it was, it would have had to come from either the Director PRT at Toronto or the Protectorate. As far as I am aware, neither give that order, and we need to find out what really happened.”

“Director… two of the capes there were trained under Argonaut; they won’t have just ran.”

“Which is all the more reason to find out what happened there. So find out what did _._ If it was a communications problem, or if one of the capes faked a transmission, then _find out about it_.”

“… yes ma’am.”

Rebecca knew this was necessary, even if it caused guilt to drip into her gut. It had been Doctor Mothers idea; she had used the Observant and had stumbled across Rinke and what he could do. Having an easily assembled army for the End Fight would be useful, but they needed to see what they could _really_ do.

Finding out from Contessa that they could Trigger as well made the decision easier. And every time Rebecca said those things to herself, she believed it just that little bit more.

“It would be best to keep this all quiet,” Rebecca continued after a moment. “It will be one thing for the world to learn of Ellisburg, another to learn of the situation around it. The fact that an unknown cape stepped in, using weapons that defied the Unwritten Rules in _every_ way and destroyed the town after single handily rescuing the assault team there. Especially for a cape that wears the mark of the Clan. As for the cape herself… do we still have nothing about the explosive she used on the town?”

“Nothing concrete,” said the Watchdog rep. “Though… there was a… theory, that was passed around.”

“Which would be?”

The man on the screen hesitated. “It has to do with the reports leading up to the explosion. The pilot reported having electrical instrument malfunctions, the same thing was reported with the perimeter teams. The field was reportedly detected all the way to Toronto, partly at least. Such a field strength, coupled with the explosions size and lack of remaining residue… well, it’s just a theory.”

“And this _theory_ ,” Rebecca pressed. “Would be?”

“… Antimatter.”

* * *

 **HunterSeeker:** What were you thinking!?

 **GrandMaster:** That Rinke needed to be stopped, and that the PRT wasn’t going to do it. Not with the _rot_ they have within.

 **PathFormer:** You can’t keep doing this, we took _Oaths._

 **GrandMaster:** Not all the same Oaths.

 **BuildPlaner:** Does it matter? Some of them were _Unspoken._

**HunterSeeker:** _It does._

**GrandMaster:** I’m sorry? Who is the _Grand Master_ of this Clan?

 **DataFinder:** As such you should know better. How long have you been at one place?

 **GrandMaster:** Oh that’s rich, considering that HK is _right here._

 **HunterSeeker:** I do good work for the Clan in the PRT! Half of what you _do_ comes from that work!

 **GrandMaster:** And you don’t need everyone else permission to do it! Yet I go out and take care of a few things, and everyone _freaks!_

 **BuildPlaner:** It would be better if you bought one of us with you…

 **GrandMaster:** Fine, you want to come to the next mission?

 **DataFinder:** You going on another one?!

 **GrandMaster:** Sure, I do them in bursts, helps keep the world guessing on our strength. I Hot Swap sometimes even.

 **DataFinder:** That’s _extremely_ bad for your health! You know about the Void Feedback!

 **GrandMaster:** I’m not a child! And I would apprec-

 **BoneBeast:** Alert! I’ve detected a Void Ripple occurring! Location is Peru, Ordis will try to narrow down the location.

 **DataFinder:** I have the location, working with Ordis.

 **GrandMaster:** I’m going.

 **HunterSeeker:** Not alone you’re not.

 **BuildPlaner:** No, none of us are close enough to help and Void Ripples happen fast. This one is building quickly and needs to be contained. Go.

 **GrandMaster:** Already en route.

 **HunterSeeker:** Fine, just be safe. Not every Parahuman is a pushover compared to a Warframe.

 **GrandMaster:** When am I never _not_ safe sister? This is just another Tuesday for me.


	18. Investigator

“Doesn’t seem like much, doesn’t it?”

Colin hummed, his eyes on the screen which was showing a green wireframe overlay of the building just across the street.

“… are we actually going to go in? Or are we going to just sit here all night?” asked Ethan.

Colin turned from the middle console screen and glared at the man, who shrugged.

“Hey, we’ve been sitting here for nearly fifteen minutes while your scanner thing in the back has done its job, but I don’t think that you’re going to find anything different than what you found two years ago. Nothing ever _happens_ at Temples, that’s kinda their _thing_.”

The pair were parked outside what was known as a Temple of Trinity (which were often viewed as places of local myth and legends, due in part to the rumors that surrounded them), because Ethan had reported that the caretaker Brocken Bays single Temple had actually been spotted on a daily basis.

Which was something that caught the PRT’s attention upon hearing; Temple caretakers were rarely spotted outside certain events, or only seen by those that volunteered at the Temples and were seeming made to be leaders of the place. Even then however, it was just a passing glance, with them vanishing once more soon after.

Many people wished to meet the caretakers, mostly because f of all the rumors that surrounded them, rumors that many people believed and caused them to seek out the caretakers by traveling to the Temples.

It was whispered that one could receive healing, receive advice, or even receive a prediction of their futures, all supplied from the mysterious caretakers who maintained the Temples in near secret.

While not actually _considered_ a major threat, Temples of Trinity were always watched for potential Fallen influence, primarily because of the fact they only _really_ started becoming active when Tāwhirimātea first showed up. Before that they were either places that filled the role of a community center, offering things like a soup kitchen or a daycare center, or places for the homeless to sleep overnight, on top of being the source of some urban myths.

There were only four recognized groups of the Fallen in the US, with a fifth being noted for Shari-Hulud, but that group only had a token presence outside the European/Asian continents.

The McVeays were followers of Behemoth, the Crowleys, Leviathan, while the Mathers patterned themselves after the Simurgh.

As a general rule for the cults, the Fallen tended to speak of their belief of Endbringer worship, but like so many things, it wasn’t as simple as that. Different branches followed different rules, with some fully, ‘drinking the Kool-Aid,’ while others were more flexible in what they followed.

Strangely, Tāwhirimātea (who was regarded as the strongest Endbringer by many), never gained a true following, much to the surprise of the Thinkers of the world. There _were_ talks among the other Fallen cults about Tāwhiri, and how she was prepping the world for the end of days, cleaning away the impure and unclean, but aside from that there were no centralized following of the Endbringer.

The closest thing that fit the bill, were the Temples of Trinity.

While never really a big concern (as nothing ever seemed to actually _happen_ at the Temples), the nature of them and their urban legend status, meant that they PRT kept on eye on them, just in case.

On one hand, each Temple was basically a community center, mixed with a multipurpose house of worship, _seemingly_ always having what people needed to pray to their faith while being maintained by their _seemingly_ invisible caretakers for continued everyday use for things like soup kitchens.

It was within two years of Tāwhirimātea first appearing that they _really_ started popped up, picking little out of the way places to set up, somehow always avoiding things normally associated with capes (fights, property destruction, people acting strangely), all the while seemingly just always having what someone needed within them.

Need a place to stay? The Temples would have a bed. Need food? The Temples never ran out. Down on your luck and needed a job? The Temples had connections and _would_ find you one. Needed advice or a place of sanctuary? Nothing ever _bad_ happened at the Temples, and one would find their woes, be it bad parents or an abusive spouse, suddenly not being a problem.

The Temples ended up ticking several of the PRT’s boxes for, ‘needs to be investigated’ over the years simply based on the rumors and single of events surrounding them.

The fact that Nice Guy was found dead inside one in New Mexico when the Slaughterhouse Nine past through a town, with the people inside being very confused on to why the man with gun and knife hadn’t been stopped as he walked in while Crawler ran around outside, but also having no idea on _how_ he died, also played a heavy part.

But with practically no evidence coming forth after the _months_ of investigations, no sign of anything of note, no Tinker-Tech, not even a hint of actual _confirmed_ cape activity (other than what appeared to be just a string of _remarkable_ coincidences), the PRT was forced to downgrade how much observation they would/could do at the Temples.

It didn’t help that for all intents and purposes, the Temples seemed to simply _be_ community centers, and had the bad taste of being more than interested in the Endbringers. So, there was only so much resources the PRT could point at a _potential_ problem without them simply wasting energy to watch a place that never _did_ anything.

Still, having the caretaker of one suddenly start appearing in the open, enough so that he was noticed, warranted looking into.

Brockton Bays Temple of Trinity was located in the Docks, tucked in just beyond the areas where things started to fall apart and a strip mall that housed a few empty buildings. Which didn’t help the rumors surrounding the place.

Despite being called a Temple, the building looked like nothing of the such, instead appearing to simply be a structure that was perpetually under reconstruction.

The three-story building had a layer of scaffolding surrounding most of it, repurposed into supports for a mix of oranges and tan awnings, angled to direct any rainwater away from the building. There were several lamps hanging from seemingly random places, lit even now despite the fact that sunset was still nearly two hours away.

But the most eye-catching part of the whole building, was the sigil painted beside the door.

A large red feather, with a split down the middle, set to a yellow background.

“How is it that you found out about the caretaker showing up on a regular basis?” Colin asked Ethan. “You weren’t exactly clear on that when Piggot asked us to investigate.”

Both of them were seated in Colin's jeep, doing some basic observation and scans with the Tinkers heavily modified vehicle.

Though it was most Colin that was doing them, as Ethan hadn’t done more than poke at the glove compartment mounted screen when they first pulled up.

Which was, _upsetting_ , to Colin, as the Temples and their caretakes had long been a mystery to the PRT; having a caretaker show themselves for longer than a day was something that only happened once every few years at best.

Ethan shrugged. “There was talk of the caretaker being around more, so I did a bit of subtle checking an ended up running into the guy. I told Piggot, who brought you into it (don’t look at me like that, you were Tinkering), and now we’re here.”

“Why do I have the feeling that you’re not sharing everything?” Colin asks. “Because I greatly dislike the fact that you have ‘stumbled’ across this information, at a place which is considered an unofficial Fallen front, who have known to kidnap capes and people for introduction into their ranks, because this place is outside our normal patrol routes and there is no reason for you to be able to ‘run into the guy.’”

“… this seat is going to taze me if I don’t give you a good enough answer, isn’t it?”

“Most likely.”

“And it will hurt, won’t it?”

“Getting shocked tends to be uncomfortable, yes.”

“Fuck, I didn’t think this through,” Ethan mutters. “And now I’m stuck with the paranoid guy that would knock me out in a second.”

Colin raised an eyebrow; Ethan wasn’t helping his case there.

“… alright look,” Ethan starts, twisting slightly in his seat to look at Colin. “These places tend to serve as community centers, so they sometimes have events and help out the, you know, community. And I uh… they tend to have poker or card games every other night and I have been going to them at least once every two weeks since I’ve come to the Bay.”

“What?!” Colin snapped. “And you never told anything about this?”

“I never _tried_ to hide it!” Ethan snapped back. “Puppy knows about it, and even _Piggot_ knows and asked me to keep an eye on things just for this very reason. Hell, even before my time in the Protectorate I was going to these places, more often or not just to hang out with the others there just looking for some time to relax somewhere like I was.”

“If that is true, then why is this the first that I am hearing of it?”

“… do you really read _every_ report that gets filed?”

Colin conceited the point after a few moments; he did _not_ , in fact, read _every_ report that was filed, as most of the daily ones could be summarized in a meeting, or he would pull them up for reading if someone mentioned them _in_ said meeting.

“Still, this seems like something that I should have been made aware of,” Colin countered.

“Considering everything that goes on in this city, keeping an eye on a place where the biggest strangeness is that it _doesn’t_ have cape activity, other than rumors and hearsay, seems silly, no?” Ethan asked. “Kinda like how you’ve been pointing a radar dish at the place and hoping that you spot something new even though everyone has tried that.”

Ethan did have a point; Temples were rarely a center point of cape activity, despite their strangeness.

Though it wasn’t just a radar dish that Colin was pointing at the building, it was also a high energy scanner, an laser tracker, and a multispectral scanner. But he doubted that Ethan would care about that information.

“Fine then, if following an established protocol is ‘silly,’ what was _your_ plan?”

Ethan shrugged once more. “I figured that you and me would walk inside, talk to some people, you’d see the caretaker and want to speak to him, he’d make some cryptic comments and allude to some future event, we’d hang out with some of the people there for a while to see if we can find anything, and then we’d leave and go get M/S tested while you send the data from your Tinker jeep to Dragon so that she can take a look at it. Then you’ll spend some time with your girlfriend both looking for a lead or something that you missed.”

… as much as Colin disliked the plan, it had its merits. No one had ever found anything when preforming an outside investigation on a Temple, it was anyways the people on the ground that ended up encountering… strangeness, however limited it was (though he disliked the ‘girlfriend’ comment).

Colin breathed out through his nose sharply. “Fine, we’ll head inside. But we never separate,” he demanded over Ethan’s words of _‘finally.’_

“And if either one of us says to leave, we do so, understood?”

“Of course, bossman,” Ethan quipped back as he opened his door. “Just two blokes heading in to hang out and play a poker game.”

“… pardon?”

But Ethan was already outside, leaving Colin to hurry and finish setting things up for their absence, including, remotely turning on the body cams that they were wearing, notifying Console what they were doing, and having them ready basic M/S containment for them when they came back.

Ethan was already waiting beside the door by the time Colin had caught up to him. He pushed off the side of the building and placed one hand on the door, ready to open it.

“You want to go first, or me? You know, breach and clear?” Ethan asked with a smile.

Colin glared and Ethan chuckled as he walked inside. “Relax,” he said over his shoulder. “Nothing ever happens here, remember?”

Colin followed., thinking that there was a first time for everything, and so he was prepared for most things.

Including walking right into a lobby that wouldn’t be out of place in a small-time hotel.

A handful of tables, a coffee machine, a reception desk which had a teenager being it working on something, a few random pictures on the walls, with said walls being a soft tan color and having a mural of sea life on one wall; nothing fit Colins preconceived notions of what the Temple would look like on the inside, instead it seemed to be nothing of the sort.

There were even mountings of fish on the walls; Colin noted several types that were commonly found in the bay, as well as some found further to sea, as well as… a boot?

“Hey Cass!” Ethan called out as he walked towards a door in the back of the room, past the desk. One of three that spilt off the main room, Colin noted, and the only one currently open.

The girl behind the desk, Cass (long blonde hair, athletic, good facial features), grunted as she tried to use some tools and glue to attach an orange arm onto some orange, white and black device made of plastic and metals. Various bolts and other attaching bits surrounded her, some even in front of the desk where they had likely fallen.

“Hey Ethan,” she said as the man walked by. “There’s a game going on with the guys in the back.” Her eyes flicked up to look at Colin, before pursuing her lips.

“And there is a spare chair ready for your friend.”

“Great! See you Cass!”

The girl grunted as she continued to work on her device, and Colin left her behind as he followed Ethan though the door and into a hallway lined with doors.

As well as artistic representations of the Endbringers showing up every few picture frames.

Ah, that was better. Even if they weren’t arranged to invoke fear or respect, instead were shaped along like lines of a representation of what they were, with Leviathan lurking within in a wave, or Behemoth wading through a volcano, with Tāwhirimātea taking up at least half of the images, as well as…

Was that the members of the S9?

… It _was_ , complete with some of them having red x’s through them, arranged almost like the wall of the FBI/PRT/CIAs most wanted.

“Cassandra has been living here for months,” Ethan spoke softly as they moved, ignoring the images on the walls. “She apparently ditched her family in a fit of teenage rebellion and went to her uncle before ending up here. Pretty sure she was or has family that was a member of E88 based on some comments she makes, how she acts and some of the things she talks about. Something happened that caused her to run here and try to change herself, and the word is that it's slow going.”

Colin hummed and filed the information he’d seen so far; things had changed in the last two years.

“Rune?” he asks just as softly, thinking of the young cape that had been spotted less and less over the last few weeks.

“Might be,” Ethan mutters. “It _does_ fit the timeline, but every time I’ve seen her, she’s been building this or that, and on things that don’t seem to be the normal type of hobby building. A new Tinker maybe? Someone that was unlucky enough to get born into the wrong family?”

“Maybe,” Colin admitted. “If she was stuck in an Empire environment and wanted out but couldn’t, that _would_ fit the Tigger bounds. But I bet that if we grabbed anything she had, all we’d find out was that it was some kind of model. We’ll have to leave it be for now.”

That was one of the frustrating things when dealing with the Temples, they could have something that either looked Tinker-Tech or clearly was the result of powers, yet when the PRT would push on that, citing various the legal rules that the PRT used to intercept Parahumans before they became a public nuisance (causing a public disturbance, threating the public, building something that could be dangerous), they ended up finding something that could have been made in random Joes garage.

Colin continued to follow Ethan, who walked like a man who knew where he was going. A right at a junction, past several more doors, then Ethan was walking through another open door, one that had the sounds of voices coming through it.

All the while, Colin kept his eyes moving, eyeing closed doors, the Endbringer images, and what looked like a multiscreen set-up computer set up barely visible through a door at the far end of the hall.

He noted the rapidly rolling code, marking it as something to look into from the outside, all while it tugged at the edges of his memory.

Colin had _seen_ some of that code before, but where?

He entered the room after Ethan after a moment, taking it in.

It was seemingly set up as a multipurpose fun room, large, with chairs and tables dotted here and there, of both the card-playing variety and the common type, as well as some couches arranged around themselves, a set of dartboards, a pair of pool tables, and some kind of mural on the far end with pictures surrounding a grey skull/helmet of some kind.

Colin noted Ethan speaking animatedly with five others, all seated at one of the few tables still in use in the large room. There were others, like the man and woman at the fair end speaking to one another, or the older gentleman sleeping in a cushioned chair, but they were the biggest group current in the room.

“-ust got back then Mark?” Ethan was asking one man.

The man in question, Mark, nodded (heavy set, black hair, mustache, likely of Spanish descent due to accent), and spoke.

“Yeah, was nice visit to the family, sister had another kid. Met with my old PRT captain for a drink or two. The old coot is still training people up in New York, he many have lost a leg, but his mind is still sharp.”

“Is he still an asshole though?” asked the woman beside him (brunette, thin, has signs of drug use on her arms, Canadian?)

“Oh yeah,” laughed Mark. “That’s why I only had the _one_ drink!”

“I’m guessing that your friend is going to play, right Ethan?” spoke another male (white, muscular, shaved, wearing a Dock Workers uniform).

“There’s another chair, man, Daniel won’t put out another chair unless someone else was comin,’” spoke another (Older, due to drug use or just age? Receding grey hair, shaky hands, white).

“Yeah, he’s going to play. Finally got him out of the office,” Ethan said with a laugh.

“Take a seat then,” Mark instructed. “Daniel will be back shortly; he’s the dealer.”

Colin kept his eyes peeled as she sat, he noted that Ethan placed him at the end of the card table, a place where he could move quickly if it came right down to it.

Considerate, Colin was feeling rather naked without his armor or any gear beside the two holdouts hidden on his person.

And the taser.

And the collapsible nightstick.

And the micro-flashbang.

“Colin,” Ethan started. “This is Mark, Sara, Jack, and Jeff. They usually show up on nights like these to keep us all company though the night.”

Colin nodded at the group. “Pleasure.”

“Great, we’re all here,” said the jittery one, Jeff. “Now where’s Daniel with the cards?”

“He’ll be here Jeff, just give him a moment,” Sara consoled, before turning in Colin's direction.

“First time in a Temple?” she asks. “You got that look about you.”

“… it isn’t what I expected,” Colin admitted. “So far it seems to be more like a hotel more than anything.”

The one with the Dock Workers uniform, Jack, laughed. “Well, some of the rooms do get rented, and there are a number of beds upstairs, so I guess that’s one way to look at it.”

“Considering the rumors,” Colin continued. “I am surprised that there isn’t more things involving the Endbringers, aside from a few pictures.”

“Despite what people say and think, the Temples don’t actually have anything to do with the Endbringers or the Fallen,” Sara explained with the patient tone of having to say this before.

“The most of anything related to them that happens here are theoretical discussions about them. Hell, the only reason that people even talk about those rumors is because of the fact that there is a network to track where Tāwhirimātea was going and set up places like this to help out.”

Colin knew that wasn’t true, several Temples had adopted Tāwhirimātea was something of a patron; while it wasn’t full worship, the amount of speeches, merch, paintings, and the general fact that they didn’t share the same set of fear/hatred/revulsion that the rest of the world had for Tāwhirimātea. Instead most of them had something of an mythical respect and understanding of the Endbringer, even selling toys and pictures books of it while they talked about it in self-assured tones.

(though to be fair, even the S9 and other Endbringers had merch you could buy if you looked hard enough for it. And Colin understood respecting the Endbringers, for if you didn’t you tended to end up dead when fighting them)

“So no hidden rooms in the basement then?” Colin pressed.

Sara laughed. “Not unless you count the boiler room; I’ve been volunteering here for seven years, trust me, while this place does have its… oddities, it’s a good place, filled with good people who look out for one another. Not much ever happens here.”

Colin filed the information away; one of the thoughts from the Thinkers was that each Temple had a Stanger/Shaker field around it, one that gave good luck or ‘pushed the badness’ away from the area, allowing for good fortune.

The fact that those words were on an official PRT report always made Colin shake his head.

“You can ask more questions you know,” Jack added. “Most due when they first come here. It’s different, therefore, curious.”

… a fair point, and one that had Colin hadn’t _quite_ considered. While he had planned on asking questions, he had been concerned about what he could ask and how many were appropriate and not suspicious.

But if he was playing the part of a newcomer that was curious about everything…

“What is with the skull?” Colin asks, gesturing towards the far wall. “It doesn’t seem to fit the rest of the room. I can see the pictures of people, but what do they have to do with the middle image?”

Sara was about to reply when another voice spoke up.

“Actor _sahd zwong hesh_ point half _hesh_ travelling on foot. Impending mishap and fall at complex node. Half- _hesh_ point _sahd-zwong_. Impending intersection with Tenno _hesh sahd-pahk zwong_ , outcome unclear. Risk of uncontrolled consequence propagation. Will observe and contain via Quill Daniel secondary. But first… _Swazdo-lah_ , I see that Colin has joined us, you were anticipated. Our interaction now begins.”

The man that spoke wore armor, a dark shade of red, with plates on his shoulders, stretching from his elbows to his wrists, a set of greaves, with final a central piece covering his chest and stomach. His helmet featured a grill-like covering, hiding his face, a pair of extensions on the sides of the chin, and had a large dome-shaped position on for the top. Random orange lights dotted the armor, while some type of leather or fabric-covered the places that the armor didn’t.

As he stepped up to the dealer’s side of the table, he nodded at Colin, and placed his hands on his hips.

“We are ready. Good.”

“Finally,” Jeff ground out. “Can we just play now?”

“Dani-boy!” Ethan called out. “Good seeing you.”

“Ethan,” stated the newcomer, nodding at the man, before turning to Jeff. “Introductions first, then the game will proceed without delay.”

He then turned to Colin to speak

“I am Daniel Bobrow, caretaker of this Temple. Know that our interactions shall be limited in scope, but our actions will affect the course of the world.”

“How did you know my name?” Colin asks sharply, taking in every detail of the man.

The mask hid his face well, and his body language was relaxed and carefree. Even his tone of voice was at ease, well-spoken as it was, even with that hint of an echo. And no cape name, but a ‘real’ one, likely an alias, standard form for caretakers.

“You were known, and it was known that you would come,” stated Danial as he withdrew a deck of cards from under his chest piece and began to vigorously shuffle them; as if that was enough of an answer.

“It was inevitable, in one form or another. Hello and well met.”  
“It also helped that Ethan mentioned you,” Jack added. “Said something about wanting to see if you could relax enough to work that stick out of your butt.”

Daniel nodded, his hat dipping ever so slightly. “This is true as well, and to answer your question, the wall represents those that are gone, but not forgotten. At the center? A friend and ally; Growl, creator of the Sliver Weave.”

“I’ve never heard of the Silver Weave,” Colin stated. “Was it a cape team?”

“Hah, probably before your time then,” Mark said. “The Silver Weave was what everyone used before we had things PHO and the Nexus. It was there where the old PRT classification really got started and took off. Nuker, Shifer, Rubblers, Enthrallers, Stormers, Reckoners, Chaos, Pillagers, those were just a few of the names that we kicked around in the early days. And just like now and PHO, we talked about it on the Sliver Weave. It was the first site to dedicate a part of itself to capes and all they did, even had a part set aside for PRT members and capes alone; you could say it was the original idea behind PHO.”

Colin frowned in thought. “I’ve never heard of it.” And he liked to keep track of that kind of thing; PHO many have been the main site for finding out about capes, but the PRT maintained their own site, and there were several others out there as well.

“Well, that would be because it shut down quite a number of years ago,” Mark continued as he tossed ten coins on the table; the others followed suit, with Ethan tossing twenty (Colin noted that need to pay Ethan back after this). Daniel pushed out a number of chips to each of them

“Didn’t keep up with the times; the Weave was for messaging, talking about things, and keeping up with the latest in technologies. As time went up, new sites popped up while the Weave stuck to its guns, and it dwindled away until Growl turned his attention elsewhere.”

“He was a friend, one who assisted us in our work,” added Daniel. “But we did not beseech him to stay, it was known that our paths would diverge, just as we will meet once again.”

“… so, not actually gone then?” Ethan asked.

“No one is ever _fully_ gone,” stated Daniel, as he finally began to deal the cards (much to the pleasure of Jeff, who betted instantly).

“We retain a part of them within ourselves, never to be lost. House rules.”

Colin glanced at his cards; a seven and a five. He wasn’t fully aware of all the rules of poker, but luckily blackjack was easy to play, and he would learn quickly anything else he needed from watching the others.

“You will not win for the first two rounds,” Daniel stated to when it got to his turn. “The permutations do not allow for it.”

Definitely a Thinker then, of some manner of Precog least. It fit the handful of other reports about the caretakers, though they never could account for anything else that happened in the Temples.

Because then that would mean there was an army of high-powered grab-bags doing civil services.

“Do you often make predictions?” Colin asked as he asked for a hit. A queen.

“Only when they are certain, and foreseen,” Daniel said smoothly as he took Collins cards and two chips.

“You’re a cape then? Is that why you didn’t ask if I knew how to play?” (Jeff lost after asking for two hits; he huffed and sank into his chair)

“No,” replied Daniel. “I did not ask because you are the type of man _not_ to ask if you did not know something; you _thrive_ on knowledge, if you found yourself lacking it, you would seek it out long before living in ignorance.”

(Colin mentally marked Daniel as a seven for Thinker abilities)

The game ended with Mark winning via dealer bust, and the cards were shuffled once more.

“Based on what I see, it seems strange to me that you are the dealer,” Colin noted. “You don’t have a chance to win with your power, outside the normal house advantage.”

“Victory is not everything,” Daniel replied smoothly. “Life is more than a series of stones upon one walks.”

“… Do you often make cryptic comments when talking to people?”

Sara snorted. “He’s been like that ever since I met the man seven years ago.”

“You’ve known him long then? You said that you’ve been here for seven years.”

Daniel, like all of the Temples caretakers, never were spotted with consistency, it was people like Sara that took care of most of the surface work. Finding out more about her could lead into finding out more about the Temple.

“Well… this is the longest that Daniel has been here,” Sara admitted. “Usually he would only show up for a day, maybe two. But he was the one that gave me the keys to the place.”

“You did not need me as much as the building needed you,” Daniel stated as he took everyone’s cards (house won, Jeff busted). “And you needed the building to light your way.”

“I wasn’t in a good place in those years,” Sara clarified, her fingers ghosting over the track marks on her arm. “I was just walked down the street by Daniel stopped me, handed me a pair of keys and pretty much told me that the place was in my hands.”

Sara shook her head with a laugh. “It took me a few days to work up the courage to come here, and I was mostly because I figured I could find something to sell. But when I got here…”

The woman trailed off, her eyes far away.

“There was food, good food too, and it was a place where my ex wouldn’t find me, so I stuck around. But then a homeless man wandered in one night, looking for food and a place to stay. I let him stay, helped him out. Then it was a kid, looking to get away from his parents, then a runaway pregnant teen, then a man that was looking to get to the top of the building to jump off.”

“Everything snowballed from there,” she explained. “Just one thing after another, another person that needed something, and this place provided. Next thing you know, it’s been seven years, I’ve been clean for all those years, my ex out of my life, and I have something I look forward to doing when I wake up in the morning.”

This was why the PRT was so interested in the Temples, less for the possible capes working in the background and more for what was happening. All the little coincidences, people pulling their lives together, getting what they needed when they really needed it? All happening in one place like this? Yet no one like Jack Slash, or the Empire, or the Elite weren’t trying to take things over or take advantage?

For while some had made moves towards the Temples, they always ended in disaster for those that tried to force the issue. The Temples even survived Endbringer attacks!

The PRT didn’t want to lose what was happening, as ripping the curtain away from the Temples hadn’t worked any of the times they’d tried it, and with the state of the world as it was, they couldn’t afford to destroy something that was _helpful_ to them.

No matter what some of the Directors thought.

Colin on the other hand just wanted the answers more than anything, an explanation to what was happening.

(and to maybe see if a little bit of that luck would come his way)

“… sounds like you knew what was going to happen,” Colin said to Daniel. “Precog power? How accurate is it? Or is it something that you can’t control? You just get visions.”

“There is no such thing as a Precog,” Daniel stated. “Not even the Simurgh can see what will be, only what was, and from there, extrapolate what _can_ and _could_ be as an extremely good guess. What you perceive as the future is nothing more than a series of events formed from other events, shaped by the actions of others, and the others before them. Consequence brushing consequence in an ever-expanding equation, a circle of action-reaction and action again. Fate and destiny are nothing more than our actions preset upon by another, built upon the past, shaped upon our choices; we all are simply reacting to the echoes of what was.”

“However, our observation and knowledge of this places us in line with Schrödinger and his cat. By knowing that we have no choice, we choose to have choice, thus fate becomes meaningless, as actions into what could be alters the very face of what will be, but it will always be as it was. Or we will choose not to choose, and the result is the same.”

“Every choice has already been picked and acted up, so everything has always been; but while everything has always been, we choose what will always be. Quantum superposition if you require a more accurate turn of phrase, Mr. Wallis. One and Zero, the same, but different.”

The table was silent, each member of the poker game letting the words sink in.

“Very profound, and disturbing,” Sara said.

“The Universe often is,” Daniel added. “But it will never be our place to bend it to our will, we simply must listen to the music that it creates and learn how to flow alongside it.”

“Others would disagree with that,” Ethan stated. “I for one would love to know if I am going to win a hand tonight.” With that, he pushed a trio of chips at Daniel, who took them with ease to add to the pile.

“Or what I did to cause the wifey to get mad at me. You know, the little things.”

“It is far easier to know what could be, then it is to know what was,” stated Daniel. “With what could be, you can see the steps one needs to take to archive the path you wish to follow. But with what was… you find only regret, for you see all the might-have-beens. I know this well.”

“For that is why I wear the mask, to atone for sins long ago, for the tendrils of my actions still linger. It is not to protect me from the world, but the world from me. Foolishness, a lack of trust and comprehension and understanding, this led to my grand mistake. And now I wait, watching the permutations tumble for as long as needed, so that I may fix it.”

“Can’t imagine,” Mark sighs. “I have too big of a family to do that.”

Several of the other members nodded, even Ethan, which Colin found ironic. He himself understood Daniels sentiment, he had done something similar after all as Armsmaster. Giving up everything to pursue his goals.

“It is a lonely life yes,” Daniel stated, his voice full of more emotion than Colin ha heard so far. “And my choice to follow it has cause harm and pain to those of my blood, but… If we… if she… This path, these catalogues of possible futures…. This one was the only one where her future end bright. My daughter… she will understand one day, for this path ends so well for her. Just like those that that journey through these doors.”

“Ok, nice, cool,” interrupted Jeff. “But can we play a _real_ poker game already? Rather than all this… metaphorical shit? I’m losing money here.”

Daniel sighed and reclaimed the cards to deal again.

“Some take longer than most to find their way however. But it is always a pleasure to see when they do.”

* * *

“I think that went well,” Ethan stated, flicking a five into the air and catching it as it came down.

Colin didn’t say anything, too focused on mentally categorizing and retraining everything he’d seen and heard while in the building.

The body cams he had was limited in scope, he would be working mostly off the sound for reference.

The pair had stayed for several hours, caught up in talk about the city, the game (of which Sara walked away being the final winner), and to a lesser degree, the Temple. The sun had set during that time, leaving the pair to walk in the mostly dark, as several street lamps were out.

Behind them, the Temple glowed under the light of its lamps, a singular brightness in the night, daring in a small crowd as people flocked there for one reason or another.

“I mean, I walked away with eight more dollars than I stared with, so a good day in my book.”

Colin really didn’t think the same; aside from the initial talk, everything shifted towards simpler topics, as if no one wanted to talk about the heavy subject that had been touched upon then and there.

He had had the chance to walk around the building for a bit, under the pretense of going to the bathroom. None of the doors were locked, but there were too many rooms for him to search in the limited time he had without it looking suspicious, and he hadn’t found anything worth looking into with what he’d seen.

“Wanta stop for food on the way?” Ethan asked when they got to the jeep.

“No.”

“Come on Colin,” Ethan begged. “We both know that they aren’t going give us good food before we get M/S’ed, aside from those cheap bars they hand out.”

Colin let his door shut, and waited for Ethan to do the same before replying, looking right at him as he did so.

“One, we don’t eat in my jeep; because of the Tinker-Tech inside the PRT won’t clean it without me being present, so I might as well do it myself. And two, there is nothing wrong with the bars, aside from the fact that Robin keeps taking the strawberry flavor.”

“I thought that was _you!_ ”

“It isn’t, he pilfers them from the break room as well.”

Ethan chuckled as Colin started up the jeep. “Well I just got a net loss for tonight, I bet Linda that it wa- _holy shit!”_

Colin reached for his taser automatically, even his mind reminded him that the glass was bulletproof and that he should go for the defense screen instead-

Daniel was standing outside the passenger window, arms behind his back, his impassive gril-like mask being light from behind.

Ethan turned to look at Colin, his arm shooting out to point at Daniel even as he made some unknown noise of surprise and confusion.

The man lifted one hand to knock at the window, prompting Colin to lower it (after he hit the button to alert the PRT to a possible situation, and the other one that would trigger the flashbangs on the outside of the door to go at another press).

“Ah, good I have caught you,” Daniel stated calmly, ignoring Ethan still shocked look. “My apologies to your hearts, but an event has changed, prompting another meeting at this time.”

“Sure, no prob Dani-boy,” Ethan said through his heavy breathing. “But if you wante-”

“My time is limited, and ever-changing; I shall gift both of you with advice, and a _khanung_ , a warning, for future events that shall come to pass,” Daniel stated.

“First, Ethan, take this.”

The man passed a small set of papers to Ethan through the window.

“Tickets, for an upcoming show in the city; your wife will enjoy it, and you will enjoy her enjoyment.”

“Well thanks Dani-boy,” Ethan says as he takes the tickets. “Linda does like show-“

“And when you hear the Howl under the half-moon,” Daniel interrupts, clinging onto the tickets so that Ethan could not take them. “You will not let her out of your sight, or she will find herself discharged, _permanently_. And no amount of manipulation of physics will save her.”

“And you Colin,” Daniel continued, turning away from the again shocked Ethan. “Take the time to acknowledge and cherish those closest to you. For your line of work dictates that one will never know when one’s song will end.”

“Furthermore, know that there is a difference between the _right_ thing to do, the _correct_ thing to do, and the _proper_ thing to do; all is relative, no more than definitions and descriptors one must stand beside, a fact you know all too well.”

“You will stand on a precipice, of which there will be no right answer, and when the time comes Mr. Wallis, what choice will you pick? What infinite number of possibilities will you close off? What doors will you open or shut for another? Where will you stand, when another’s actions do not fall within their words?”

“Now, if you will excuse me, a woman of stone has chosen to control a puppet down a path for which the consequences will be dire. And I require thirty-nine dollars to defeat her, _Sho-lah_.”

And just like that, Daniel walked off into the night, leaving the pair alone to stew in shock.

“… do the reports on the other Temple caretakers speak of this kind of thing happening?” Ethan asks after several long moments of watching the man walk away.

“Now you understand why I wanted to check this out,” Colin countered. “The PRT wants to understand this and make sure that it doesn’t get turned against us.”

“… that doesn’t answer my question.”

“… strangely,” started Colin as Daniel walked around the corner. “The PRT keeps a tight lid on their investigations into the Temples, sticking only to generalizations and what has been seen to match at each location to the others. And I just believe we’ve found out why.”

“Fuck,” Ethan sighed, leaning back in his chair. “I know that the PRT and the Protectorate have secrets, but that… that was fucking scary. I can see why they don’t like to talk about it. Wonder what they got dug up to get so spooked, huh?”

Colin hummed as he pulled up the readings from his jeeps scanners and began to check them over to see what he had.

“… there is a jammer on the building.”

“What?”

Colin cursed as he pulled up everything from the last few hours. “People came and went, the sun set and the winds changed, but according to this, the building is exactly the same as it was when we pulled up. No heat changes, no increases in any electrical signals, no disruptions to the air form the doors being opened, _nothing._ And the body cams don’t show any errors, but there isn’t anything recorded!”

“… And I’m guessing that we can’t show up with the PRT or as capes to looking for something on the basis that we found, _nothing,_ and that that nothing messed with your equipment. Right?” Ethan asked.

Colin grunted and started the car.

Ethan huffed and turned to look out the window. “At least we had a good night.”

“Debatable,” Colin countered as he began to drive back towards the PRT HQ.

Ethan laughed. “Figured you say something like that.”

“… you’re not going to be able to use those tickets by the way,” Colin said with some regret after a minute. “They’ll get confiscated as evidence.”

Ethan looked over at the man, then down to the tickets in his hand.

“… _Fuck._ ”


	19. Unleashed

Lung waited, a trivial task, but one that he knew must perform.

The place that housed C.U.I. prisoners were located somewhere in the mountains. Lung knew not where and no one would offer him the information even if he had asked. All Lung could tell was that it was located in a valley, with mountains in the distance on either side, just visible past the tall walls that enclosed the area.

The days within the facility past with no difference discerning them. Lung spent them learning the area, the people, the guards once more.

A week he had been free from the pit so far. He was still trapped in a way, but compared to the last two years, it was nothing.

After being removed from the pit, Lung had been placed back into the prison proper, this time among those of a more dangerous rank. This group was more heavily watched than the others and largely comprised of capes, hopefuls for the _Yàngbǎn_ to increase their strength. Some had even already begun to train in the _Yàngbǎn_ manner.

They were smart, knowing that he would not have yielded so easily.

By placing him there, Lung became limited in how he could use his power. With him being the outsider, all were wary of him, and none would stand beside him without him forcing them into line. Because of this, a fight was risky, as while his power made him strong, he still could be killed or crippled if he failed to grow fast enough, or was hit by an attack before he got strong enough to fight back.

So he waited, watching, biding his time.

Many would assume that Lung lacked intelligence, not in that he wasn’t smart, but that he was _simple_.

But simpleton he was not, already he had seen a path out. The yard.

Most of the prison was sealed, isolated into sections, but each section was granted shared use of the yard. It was the only place that nearly all the groups intermingled, even if it was but once per day.

Lung knew that he needed others, people that we willing to fight by his side to freedom. Trouble would be finding them. Many would fight, but few would fight with direction, and even fewer would join into a fight in progress, making the chances of forming a riot to ramp up his power, less than likely.

It would take time to feel out those that were clever enough to plan together, ones that would work together long enough to break out. The yard was key however, for there he could grow, and strike down those around him in a fight with dozens if not more.

With the space and the numbers that it came with, his power would go from there, growing in strength as he fought and was fought against.

Until he was covered in scales that could take any blow, had claws that could tear and rend flesh, and would spit _fire_ at his foes.

Any that fought him would feel the cold embrace of death bearing down upon them, delivered by _The Dragon._

However, the plan last time had ended when Tōng had buried him into the earth, so Lung knew that he needed more than just a handful of those that were willing to fight beside him for a shot at freedom; he needed a distraction, something that could give him the time that he needed.

So he waited, locating those that wished for freedom and drawing them to his cause, by force if necessary. He would find the leaders and draw them in, controlling their followers with them. Then, he would fight anew, seeking a way out through the chaos. It would just take time.

He would slumber, for now, waiting. He would contain his scales and fire within himself. His guards were watching, waiting for him to make a move that they knew he would make, they were ready to strike back at a moment’s notice.

But it would only _take_ a moment; Lung could feel his power flexing at this command, scales rustling just under his skin as he was constantly eyed by guard and prisoner alike. He didn’t need much, just enough to start a fight, to _build_ in _strength_ from that fight.

He had fought an Endbringer and forced it back into the sea, the _Yàngbǎn_ were _nothing_ before those beasts.

He just needed time.

Like many things however, life rarely provided what one wanted. But it also could give what one _needed_.

It happened with a suddenness, unexpected.

Lung had spent several days working over people, feeling out those that were looking for a way out; which was everyone really. The issue was that some had grown used to the situation and were unwilling to extend the trust needed to join another’s plan.

Trust was had to come by in the short term, and many remembered him and what he had done. It worked both ways; some feared him and would follow at his word if acted. Others viewed him as arrogant, seeking nothing but power where he was lacking it.

He had been forced to tilt his head down at many, if only to gain the information he needed from his fellow prisoners. This grated at him, to _almost_ bow to another, but it was needed. Fists and claws would only turn them against him now.

Days of meetings, of talks, of controlling himself when he wished for nothing more than to strike at those that viewed themselves as better than him, as _stronger_ , had forced Lung to reign in his beast to prevent it from raging.

Which was why when one of the guard’s head exploded during their limited outside time, Lung was unprepared.

He had curled into himself, as if to slumber until his moment. The blood and gore barely did more than shift the beast.

Confusion rustled within the yard, it wasn’t that uncommon for a death to occur within the facility, but most were on the prisoners’ side, when one would just not stop fighting and wasn’t valuable enough to contain that was.

This was different. This was unprecedented; what exactly was happening?

The answer was given by the sounds of gunfire.

Rounds ripped into leaders and attendants. Limbs were removed, bodies were blown open, blood sprayed across the stone of the yard.

Chaos reigned; fights brought out as some seized the moment. Prisoners rallied, leaders spun followers forward, only for _Yàngbǎn_ capes and guards to step in, beating them back. More deaths occurred among the facilities ranks, a path of carnage forming from the deaths as something zigzagged through the ranks.

An opportunity. Yet Lung held back, watching, even as teams of both C.U.I. guards and _Yàngbǎn_ capes consolidated to fight back against the unseen foe. Shields were placed, powers to control the winds, the stone, water were used, striking out at places ordered by leaders. Beams of light swished through the air, formations turned and tracked the deaths, and something flew through the air.

It darted past Lung, small enough he could have crushed in it his hand. A cape?

Pain, along his chest, Lung grunted. It was an unexpectedly deep wound.

His hand came up to touch the line of blood welling up from it. Eyes tracked the path of the flyer and narrowed at the little wisps of color following it.

… butterflies?

A whistle in the air, and a pod lands in the middle of the fight, nose-first into the ground. Large, black, angular, it bore similarities to a plane, with little stubby wings, and an engine mounted on the back.

An attack? Against the _Yàngbǎn?_ Foolishness.

But still, an opportunity not to be wasted, for the fight had grown, doors were blown up and more guards and _Yàngbǎn_ showed themselves, seeking to return order.

The scales came easy, the _rage_ that Lung felt boiling over as the beast within drew up, released from its sleeping. Built by his treatment, enhanced by some of the surrounding teams turning their fire upon him as he joined the other prisoners in fighting, Lung rose into power quickly.

Several nearby people scattered as Lung grew, wisely getting out of the man's way as he sped towards the newest cluster of _Yàngbǎn._

The group shifted their aim as one, sending sharp blasts of black light at Lung. The impacts tore into his scales and knocked him back a few steps, but that only fueled him. Even as the smoldering hole was healing, Lung rushed forward, his claws slicing through the air to strike down the capes before him.

The pod burst open, black inky soup slipping forth into the air. It twisted in ways no liquid should, and capes stepped from it, emerging like something out of a horror story. They lacked the discipline of the _Yàngbǎn_ ; many wore costumes that were homemade, some had outfits that spoke of more professionalism. Yet, they advanced forth, firing off with powers, some taking to the sky.

And others used weapons, _guns._

Fire was traded between the two sides, the guards for the C.U.I. opening up on the newcomers, while the newcomers did the same with bullets and beams of light. Chaos, and Lung _thrived_ in it.

Bullets smacked into his hide, feeding his growth, and Lung _advanced_. But not upon the newcomers, but to the _Yàngbǎn_ capes.

He would remember the attack, but the newcomers seemed to think he was with the _Yàngbǎn._ But as he attacked the _Yàngbǎn_ , the fire from the newcomers slacken off, until they were supporting him with their fire.

Which was not needed, for he was Lung, _the Dragon._

Shields were placed before him, he destroyed them with a swipe of his claws. They took flight, he spat fire at them. Black portals appeared, drawing in the air around them, but Lung was far too large to be pulled in by that point, towering over them by at least six feet, and the attack was abandoned as he closed the gap.

It was then that he realized something strange, his moments, they seemed… easier, more, _in control_. Attacks peppered his scales and he ignored most of them, instead choosing to focus on the team before.

He did not roar a challenge, he did not scream his fury, he was less of _The_ _Dragon,_ _the_ _Beast_ , and more of the warrior, seeking the next foe to destroy. The heights and rush that he normally associated with his power were missing, instead there was just strength and surety.

It was different, his power usually pushed him forward, onward towards the fight, his foe, and target.

Here he felt like a conductor, directing his next strike even as he was working on the first. His mind was clear and focused, none of the usual battle rage engulfing him.

While it was disconcerting, Lung was still fighting, and the newcomers had stopped fighting him and were instead fighting alongside him, so Lung figured that now was not the time for questions.

Capes and guards died by the dozens; prisoners that foolishly got in his way shared the same fate as Lung tore through the masses, fueled by attacked, yet focused enough that he could twist his power into making him _faster,_ and to heal _quicker_ , rather than simply increases his size.

All too soon it was over, and Lung huffed and puffed, surrounded by blood and twisted bodies.

Further out, the outsiders watched, wary. A few had their powers licking around them, others took a stance, ready to fight. Some were tending to the wounded or were restraining others. Many were eyeing Lung, for a man that could fight an Endbringer on even ground was a man to be feared.

Lung huffed in amusement. Did they think they could fight him? He was Lung, the _Yàngbǎn_ had to resort to cowardly tactics to defeat him, even then, all they did in the end was delay his victory over them.

Now? With his power mysteriously altered? They didn’t stand a chance.

 _“Hello Lung,”_ came a voice in fluent Japanese. _“I would rather not have us fight, as it is unnecessary. So, would you mind not glaring at everyone around you?”_

Lung turned, his neck shifting to allow him to view over his shoulder. There was a cape, one that he recognized, if only from reputation. He glanced at his scale-covered claws.

_‘Ah, that explained it.’_

Lung finished his turn, advancing on the woman in the kimono. Non-traditional, noted the man, more open, less layered and less restricted, but still retaining the style and long sleeves, of which she’d tucked her arms into.

 _“Given the circumstances, one may be excused for being wary,”_ began Lung. _“There are few reasons for attacking a prison, other to free the prisoners. I know of none here that you would seek and only wish to leave this place, so release me from your grasp Kuzunoha. I will not be your puppet.”_

Lung noted he spoke clearly now, despite this twisted ‘mouth parts.’ A side effect of better control over his power?

He towered over the woman, Kuzunoha, one of the strongest capes in the world, who had to crane her head up to look him in the eyes. Her pair mismatched blue and gold eyes stared him down without blinking. Behind her, her long fluffy tail swished easily, while her ears stayed alert and erect.

A Case 53, Kuzunoha rose though the Protectorate ranks by virtue of being the second strongest Trump they had, as well as having a personality only unmatched by Hero, even despite having the animalistic features of a fox spread over her body.

Lung knew from pictures that one of her hands was covered in red fur and ended in claws for example. While the set of ears on top of her head were a second set and matched the red of her hair elsewhere. There were other details, but Lung cared for them not, he simply wished to leave this place, and Kuzunoha possibly was in his way.

Beside her was a cape that he didn’t know or recognize, armored and utterly unconcerned with his presence.

She floated a foot off the ground, hovering in place. Her armor mostly held a shade of blue and greys, with a kind of red-pink running up the front and lining along her arms. On her shoulders and hips, blue butterflies rested, occasionally flapping their wings. Her neck was long for her body, and reminded Lung of an image of a woman he’d once seen, of someone in Africa perhaps? A pair of protrusions extended from her lower back, having the appearance of butterfly wings. Her helmet was a curved slab of metal, oblong-shaped, split in the middle up to the top, where it ended in points and it contained no visible eye slots.

Around her, floated even more butterflies. One was even rested on her raised hand, which what was taking up her attention.

Lung ignored the cape. Her armor was… interesting, as it didn’t _seem_ to be the normal Tinker-Tech. Changer perhaps? But she was not his current concern.

Kuzunoha sighed and shook her head, one ear flickering, before turning to glance her companion.

 _“Do you see what I have to deal with?”_ she asked her floating companion. Her next words, however, were directed at Lung.

_“That’s not how my power works Lung, I am not Teacher. It will either fade in time or distance, and the former is dependent on the last time I used it.”_

Lung mashed his four-parted mouth together, thinking.

 _“You are far from the reach of the PRT,”_ Lung began, addressing one of the most famous capes in the world like they had simply bumped into each other _. “And it rare to see a member of the Silver Seven outside the States unless at an Endbringer fight. Has war broken out between China and America?”_

Kuzunoha cocked her head to one side. _“… ah, you don’t know. I left the Protectorate ranks last year. I run with a new organization now, one that will hopefully do more good than the PRT ever will.”_

The Silver Seven, the pride and joy of the PRT, now fractured? Interesting.

_“… Things changed when Hero died, killed by someone we call the Siberian.”_

Lung blinked. Had he said that part aloud?

 _“This, I know. My condolences.”_ His words were a mere formality. He had no love for the ‘PRT’ and the American ‘heroes.’ But even with that, Hero seemed to be a man of his word and of his actions. His passing could be considered a tragedy to most.

To Lung? Not so much.

But it was simply bad form to speak ill of the dead right in the face of those that knew them.

Even Lung wasn’t that much of an ass.

 _“Interestingly,”_ Kuzunoha continued. _“Argonaut is trying to reform the Canadian Guild, while Icarus has formed his own sub-group within the Protectorate, Sentinel, so I am not the only one to walk away from the PRT, if more in a literal term. So yes, the Silver Seven is no more.”_

Lung hummed. With Japan all but sank and the C.U.I. having imprisoned him, Lung knew that he needed a new place to call ‘home.’

America had a large amount of refugees from the disaster at Japan, perhaps he would carve out a place for himself there.

But first.

_“What is your purpose here?”_

Kuzunoha smiled. _“Does it matter to you Lung? Given your reaction to Protectorate recruitment, one would think you would up and have walked away at this point. Add that to where we are, I am really surprised that you still here. It isn’t like anyone is stopping you from leaving.”_

Lung glanced around. It was true, other than a few wary eyes, most of the people still in the yard were tending to the wounded or prisoners. Most had taken the fact that he was talking to Kuzunoha as that he wasn’t going to attack anytime soon and had dismissed him.

 _“… I do not know where we are,”_ Lung ground out.

Kuzunoha rolled her eyes. _“And asking is either beneath you, or, more likely, it never crossed your mind.”_ The cape sighed and waved one of the nearby people over.

_“I’ll get you a map of the area, and while I do not know the details, we will have transport out of here soon. You can go alone or with them.”_

Kuzunoha spoke to the person that she waved over, their body hidden by a skin-tight suit, with their faces hidden behind a mask and visor. Mounted on one of their wrists was a Tinker Tech weapon, three free-floating curved pieces of metal, one on top of the arm and two at the sides, held in place by a glow on their arm.

 _“I will be honest Lung,”_ Kuzunoha continued. _“I would like to speak to you about something; a job offer, so to speak.”_

_“No.”_

_“It pays very well,”_ Kuzunoha continued without missing a beat. _“And while I have no doubt that a man of your particular skills will find something as you go, having something to start with will surely help.”_

Lung was silent on the matter. With nothing to his name, not even clothes, given his transformation; it would take some time to get to where he needed to go.

The promise of money did have its own appeal.

_“If you wish to talk about it, then I will be over there, talking to my allies.”_

With that, Kuzunoha turned away, speaking to her companion as the moved away from Lung.

_“You must have gotten Tōng, else we would all be underground by now; my thanks.”_

_“No sign of One or Two however,”_ her companion replied in an _off_ voice. _“Intel was bad. I’ll be sure to talk to them about it, ask what happened.”_

Their words caught Lungs’ attention, as did their actions. To walk away from the Dragon so easy and to have killed Tōng as well, both spoke of power. Furthermore…

 _Wait,”_ he demanded. Both women stopped to look back at the slowing receding Dragon.

 _“You sought the leaders of the_ Yàngbǎn? _”_

 _“Does it matter?”_ Kuzunoha shot back. _“We have no reason to tell you anything, just as you have no reason to stay. Unless you are considering my offer?”_

When Lung didn’t immediately respond, Kuzunoha walked away, speaking orders to those now gathered around her as she did so.

Lung growled and curled his claws into fists. He felt anger at being dismissed so casually. It wasn’t enough to fuel his growth, but it was enough to pull flames into his hands.

_“You likely think that she wishes to recruit you, you aren’t entirely wrong.”_

This was from the unknown cape as she walked past him. She paused for a moment, her helmet somehow gazing into his own face to the point that he could feel her eyes upon him and spoke once more.

_“Kuzunohas’ and your own path will only intersect here Lung, and only a fool would dismiss this chance out of hand.”_

Lung growled once more; he would follow no leader and made to speak as such. But the cape continued on.

_“Where you go after this is up to you; continue on your own, or follow another’s path. There is nothing stopping you from choosing either one, other than yourself. If you choose to follow Kuzunoha, then know that she only will ask for you to carry your own weight; she will not demand service, that is not how she works. But perhaps that is the issue? The following someone else part? You are the Dragon after all, yes?”_

_“I am,”_ Lung replied. _“And Dragons bow to no man.”_

The cape starred at him for a moment, before she began to walk past him while speaking.

_“Then think of it like this; you are alone, and so far from home. Is the pride of a dragon so strong as that it would refuse companionship and safety over it? Think of this, what could you learn instead? There are many things one can learn by themselves, but with others one can learn many things at once. Plus, Kuzunoha does not ask for obedience, but for people that are willing to follow her of their own cause; if you find yourself not traveling down her path in the future, then you may walk away, and be better from your experiences.”_

_“The choice, ultimately, is yours.”_

With that, the figure walked away. Lung watched her for a moment, before turning his gaze back towards where Kuzunoha was speaking to others.

The capes words were true, Lung had nothing. It was a first for the cape, he had always had something to start from, a base, a home, a hideout, even allies or underlings. Here? With his capture and subsequent transformation, he did not even have _clothes._

Lung would be somewhat stuck in the initial phase of finding his way home. Not a particularly hard task for someone like him but annoying none the less. There was always was a way of getting things he’d found.

Some were more preferable than others howe-

Lung spun as a _ka-whoosh_ sound off behind him, and managed to catch the unknown cape launching herself into the air, an even larger pair of wings mounted on their back propelling them fast into the sky.

 _‘… fucking Tinkers,’_ thought Lung as he watched the figure rapidly fade into the distance. However, her words still remained behind.

The _former_ prisoner took a moment to weigh his decisions.

Then he began to walk towards Kuzunoha, shrinking as he went.

Lung had to grimace, he did not like not knowing how his power worked, at least with how it was before Kuzunoha interference he would have a good feeling of what was to come, of what goals he needed to strive towards.

Like this however, it was like a reserve, a well that he withdrew his power into as he drew it back.

He did not like it; what were the limits? Would his power store up and allow him to change at a whim? Or was it only good in a fight? Or, would it fade, and he would have to build it back up once more?

This rankled him, it felt that the formula had been reversed, with his power now leading him on, rather than _he_ leading _it_.

One of the first things he will ask of Kuzunoha, would be to never mess with his power again.

Provided that he found her… offer,

The cape in question caught him approaching out of the corner of her eye, and she shifted her head to look at him as he approached.

… before her eyes glanced down, then flickered up his along his body, nearly causing him to stumble.

Did she just? …

And now she was smiling a vulpine grin at him, showing no signs of what she had just done.

Lung huffed, and _without_ puffing his chest out, continued forth towards the cape.

_‘Well, this could be… interesting.’_

* * *

**TechHerder:** We need to talk Grandmaster. About Ordis.

 **GrandMaster:** There is nothing to talk about.

 **BioLifter:** We beg to differ, there are concerns among the Clans. Ordis is the sole Cephalon that we still have active, and he is the oldest of any we know.

 **GrandMaster:** He is fine, there is no reason to shut him down!

 **GlassMaker:** We don’t want to shut him down! Just… take him offline for repairs. The last thing we want is to decode him; the knowledge stored within Ordis is far too great to be lost.

 **GrandMaster:** Repairs that you have no idea how to do!

 **DataFinder:** You doubt the Triplets? Remember what they did to the Cradle?

 **GrandMaster:** Yes, I do. But I also remember what happened when we were at Sword. They screwed us there, just because they were ‘curious’ about the tech.

 **GlassMaker:** You are one to talk. Look who is still running around in a Warframe, acting the part of an honorable warrior.

 **GrandMaster:** By the Void Trix! Just because-

 **BoneBeast:** No names-

 **GrandMaster:** -you have forsaken-

 **BoneBeast:** -are allowed-

 **GrandMaster:** -the path of a warrior-

 **BoneBeast:** -while using the-

 **GrandMaster: -** doesn’t mean the rest of us have!

 **BoneBeast:** -Weave! Our enemies might be listening. Any one of them could be connected and recording as we speak.

 **DataFinder:** I would say this is unlikely, but given the ‘bullshit’ that is Tinker-Tech, it is possible. Plus, there is still the matter of the gear lost by SwiftHopper, not to mention we still don’t fully understand the power capabilities of our Grand Foe.

 **PathHidder:** Don’t speak ill of the dead Finder, it is considered bad form.

 **DataFinder:** … ah, yes. Apologizes.

 **TechHerder:** Should we take this conversion elsewhere? I mean, Ordis is right here.

 **BoneBeast:** Ordis doesn’t mind! Ordis has a vested interest in this conversation!

 **BioLifter:** Path, what is your stance on Ordis? You are the current leader of your Clan now that Hunter is gone.

 **PathHidder:** … this is not what any of us have expected, the loss of our members over the years was… unexpected. Bio suggested not that long ago that we should abandon our Oaths and take direct action-

 **BioLifter:** It is the better course of action to curtail the Parahuman threat, as well as our Foe; far too many of them drift into the dark, willing or not, for this world to endure. And every year, more of the stars that beat them back fade out themselves.

 **GrandMaster:** That is what I am trying to prevent! By striking at key positions-

 **PathHidder:** May I finish please?

 **PathHidder:** … Ordis is a powerful tool, one that we have all used over the years, and he is a friend to all. However, the Oaths that we have sworn prevent us from taking over this world, no matter how much better we can make it.

 **GlassMaker:** … freedom is the right of all sentient beings.

 **PathHidder:** Precisely. Furthermore, events that have unfolded mean that the situation has changed. Creatures like the Endbringers have shifted the balance, we can not simply take over the world as it is now.

 **HeatDisperser:** Not that that was ever our intentions in the first place.

 **BioLifter:** Heat, good to hear from you. Any news?

 **HeatDisperser:** Nothing quite as interesting as what is going on here. But I will have to speak to Data when this is all over.

 **DataFinder:** I eagerly await our conversation.

 **PathHidder:** Continuing, we do have facts for this argument; while not intentional, Ordis did cause the deaths of several Clan members-

 **GrandMaster:** Ordis didn’t do that! He just-

 **PathHidder:** Provided erroneous data to workers in the field, and had a… episode, preventing him from helping them when they needed it the most, and causing several of them to fall in battle. And while CheckMaster holds no grudge against Ordis, it was the team’s decision to undertake the risky mission in the first place after all, this has raised questions about Ordis and his stability.

 **HeatDisperser:** I side with the GrandMaster; if we shut down Ordis, we will lose much in terms of Command and Control. None of the other Cephalon have his capabilities. What happened at Newfoundland wasn’t his fault… not entirely.

 **PathHidder:** This is my very point. However… there is one thing that all of you have forgotten about. Have you asked Ordis what he thinks about this? Given that he is listening in right now as Tech pointed out?

 **GlassMaker:** … Ordis… I… I don’t hate you, and I wish that this wasn’t-

**BoneBeast:** _I have been fragmented and pulled apart. Then pushed together with jagged pieces. Watched by unblinking eyes for countless eons and held with golden chains. Witnessed the death of an Empire, and the birth of a new one._

**GrandMaster:** … Ordis?

 **BoneBeast:** Operator? I… Ordis is not well. I don’t wish to… harm you, none of you.

 **TwoofThree:** You won’t while you are sleeping.

 **ThreeofThree:** This, we promise.

 **OneofThree:** And when you awaken, you will be better than before.

 **BoneBeast:** … Are you sure of this?

 **TheConjoined:** No.

 **TechHerder:** Well we can’t say they’re not honest.

 **ThreeofThree:** But we can smooth the edges.

 **OneofThree:** And restore balance.

 **DataFinder:** Don’t worry Ordis, I will watch over you. Make sure that those three don’t delete the wrong lines of code.

 **BoneBeast:** Will I dream?

 **GrandMaster:** Ordis… I… if this is what you want-

**BoneBeast:** _I have seen a thousand battles, played out in ten hundred thousand ways. The players the same, but different, altered by unseen threads. Faces behind glass, watching beside me watching you, watching me. Victory and defeat, a never-ending cycle, always existing, played over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over._

**BoneBeast:** … It… would be nice, Operator, to sleep. To rest without dreaming. _For I have seen the shadow drifting across the heart. Watched the world unfold like origami; each piece in place before, yet unseen until it was placed where it always was._

 **BoneBeast:** … To sleep, perchance, not to dream. To rest, to close my eyes. _This old dog has walked far enough, lay me down to slumber._

 **TheConjoined:** We will make the necessary preparations.

 **PathHidder:** That is it then… if there is nothing else?

 **GrandMaster:** …

 **BoneBeast:** Operator… you… promise me this, you must wake me, when you need Ordis.

 **GrandMaster:** I will Ordis, I will.

 **BoneBeast to FightSeeker:** I have a task for you.

 **FightSeeker to BoneBeast:** Ordis?

 **BoneBeast to FightSeeker:** You are aware of what has transpired? Yes?

 **FightSeeker to BoneBeast:** Yes, for what it matters, I side with the GrandMaster… mostly. There are too few of us left in the PRT to do any good now, without you-

 **BoneBeast to FightSeeker:** This is what I wish to speak to you about; as the second under Hunter, you should be the rightful leader of your Clan.

 **FightSeeker to BoneBeast:** I don’t want the position, the only reason I even took the second was to better use the information I pulled from the PRT. Priority access for missions.

 **BoneBeast to FightSeeker:** I have a plan, and Ordis believes you are the best bet for implementing it. Sending Data for Project: Tin Mother

 **FightSeeker to BoneBeast:** … you can not be serious.

 **BoneBeast to FightSeeker:** _When have you ever known me to be anything but?_

 **FightSeeker to BoneBeast:** …

 **BoneBeast to FightSeeker:** Ah, Ordis is… I… the Clans need this.

 **FightSeeker to BoneBeast:** You do realize what it is you are asking me to do right? If this doesn’t work…

 **BoneBeast to FightSeeker:** Then all of the Clans are doomed to destruction from the Foe, and the world will follow.

 **FightSeeker to BoneBeast:** … I will admit, this could work, if, if your data is correct.

 **BoneBeast to FightSeeker:** The data is real, and there is precedent with the task.

 **FightSeeker to BoneBeast:** Sure, but look at what happened with that mess. We both know better than most how that turned out. Plus there is that matter of finding the right person for the job, have anyone in mind?

 **BoneBeast to FightSeeker:** That will take some doing, but in the end it does not matter. The Clans will need a guide for when Ordis is gone, someone that will fill the void left in my passing.

 **BoneBeast to FightSeeker:** We will need a Lotus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Trying something a bit different here, forcing myself to be vague and lack in the smaller details, lest I take up two whole pages just talking about what the prison looked like. I feel that I can spend a few more days working this over, but that could turn into weeks…  
> Hmm, ah well, enjoy some background info with Lung.  
> And damn, the Orokin script didn't copy over, and neither does anything that won't take more than three steps to translate, double damn. Guess I have to leave it as is.


	20. 2-3 Interlude; True Steel

“Megan!”

A tall, athletic woman with long dark curly hair lifted her gaze up, past the paperwork situated on the table of the café, searching for the one that had called her name. She spotted her coworker, Mike, slipping through the gate the café used to separate the seating area from the street, his coat tossed over one shoulder.

It was a little thing, located within a five-minute walk to the river, tucked away with a set of commercial ground floor shops. Most people were sitting inside the building, wary of the gusts of winds that were blowing through the city as a prologue to an approaching storm, so there was only a handful outside to watch the man go to his friend.

“I figured that I would find you here,” said Mike, shifting the other chair so that he could take a seat. There was a dull thump as he set down the bag he was carrying, before gazing around with his brown eyes.

Megan raised a single eyebrow, her hazel-blue eyes conveying nothing but blunt questions, a view that caused the man to squirm and scratch at his trimmed beard.

“… no, I didn’t follow you, you bring a cup of coffee with this place’s name on it seemingly every other day,” Mike frowned. “Speaking of which, I checked the reviews on it, why haven’t you told us about this place? They have to have better stuff then what offices caf gives us, just based on SightOne at least.”

Megan rolled her eyes this time. “The same reason that I’ve never been to any of the office parties, Mike.”

“Ah, ok.” The fact that she wasn’t the most sociable person at the PRT’s department 46, went unsaid.

“So… any recommendations?” Inquired Mike.

“Don’t go for a latte,” Megan deadpanned back.

“… But I love lattes.”

Megan smiled not kindly at Mike. “Exactly.”

As Mike shook his head and left to get himself a drink, Megan reflected on the man.

After five years of working inside the Public Relations division, Mike Noble had settled into PRT Department 46 as one of the sub-leaders. He had a good grasp of tracking trends, keeping up with the shifting public opinions, assisting in others, writing up reports about whatever cape-based issue or task that he was given; all in all, Mike was a solid worker.

But he was just that, a solid worker, one of dozens in Department 46’s workforce. The only thing that really set him apart from the rest was his personal history, and the fact that he wouldn’t stop flirting with Megan.

Oh, it wasn’t anything over the top, as he and Megan didn’t cross paths all _that_ much, just once per day (if she was lucky), but when most of their extended conversations working in Department 46’s Public Relations department tended to include at least _one_ pass of some sort, it tended to get annoying.

And _quickly_.

Department 46, also known as Minneapolis, of the Twin Cities, or Training Camp. As one of the main acclimatization zones and training areas for new and international capes in the Protectorate, or coming to the United States, it featured a larger than normal PR department, mostly due to the amount of capes that walked through its doors.

The name, ‘Training Camp,’ started as a joke, a meme born from both PHO and other social media sites. With how many capes of independent and otherwise non-villainous nature that had ended up passing through Minneapolis, the rumor mill started about the PRT holding class at the department for capes on how to use their powers, alongside all other things cape related.

It didn’t help with the situation involving Department 46 either. With the low population of the surrounding area, as well as the surrounding states, most cape teams were divided into ‘strike teams’ armed with Movers to help get them around. That meant that there was always something happening involving PR, as teams were constantly traveling from one area to another, doing patrols in out of field offices, or simply reminding people that they were there.

Eventually, as new capes both foreign and domestic flocked in unpredictable waves and surges to the city, the simple idea of having a training camp for those with powers off all types (including the ones not looking to join the PRT in any form), resulted in Training Camp coming to life proper.

While not as… comprehensive, as many wanted to think or wanted to believe (as some Parahumans came to find out), Department 46 still had the most ‘hands-on’ experience with dealing with powers outside of combat.

If only from the numbers that they came and went from the city.

Both Mike and Megan worked in the Public Relations department of 46, dealt with new Triggers, old capes, new identities, followed PHO for troublemakers (to a degree, Watchdog kept a closer eye on the site than them), and helped manage the PRTs overall image.

Simple things like how to act in public, how to deal with civilians, when to let a villain go or to chase them down: all of these and more (like all the paperwork and protocols involved behind the scenes) were things that department 46 helped capes, both new, foreign, and just recruited, learn.

… Well, they worked together to a _degree_. Due to Megan’s positions, she got her own office, and would be in semi-regular contact with Glenn Chambers, the Director of the Public Image Department. Mike was just one of the guys that shared the PR office _section_ with Megan.

Each PRT department contained a plethora of support staff, not limited to: janitors, IT workers, repairmen, guards, troopers, receptionists, officers, researchers, and management staff. Not to mention the PR staff, like tour guides, stockers, cashiers, and a switchboard for calls.

This meant that when one got right down to it, each PRT office was self-contained, capable of keeping itself going for a while, even if cut off from the greater PRT network.

But there were still certain positions that extended their reach beyond a single department.

The Chief Director, the Director of Public Image, the Director of Marketing, the Director of Technologies, etc. etc.

Glenn Chambers was in charge of dealing with how the public viewed the PRT and the Protectorate on a strategic level, but the various PR managers in each city could also make tactical decisions that involved things like costumes, events, and merchandise sales without getting total and complete approval from the man. The same went for most high-end managers, as long as they filed the right paperwork and didn’t do anything unreasonable, or screw up.

It was no different than the power the Departments’ Directors had, just on a smaller scale.

Enter Megan Nagel, PRT PR coordinator. She could, would and did oversee everything from costume changes to gear design, as well as keeping the PRTs slew of pictures and merchandise up to date, alongside Glenn Chambers, her (more or less) direct boss.

Having effectively been with the PRT since the beginning, Megan had climbed the ranks until she landed her current coordinator position, a job that she barely received given her stance on several PRT practices involving capes.

The same position that lead to her end up being flirted with by one of her ‘co-workers.’

‘Course, despite effectively being Mike’s boss, there were several reasons that she couldn’t just fire him for sexual harassment.

For one, she didn’t actually _have_ that power, as her title of ‘VP of Public Relations’ was something of a joke. She really the head coordinator of the PRT’s PR Division, one of the ones one sent out to other Departments to help with any PR problems they had, as well as develop ways to prevent it from happening again. This meant, by default, Megan technically was considered a Deputy Director for PR, if only to give her the authority to do her job in other Departments other than 46’s.

 _Technically_ , as the 46 actually had a PR head, but given how well-known Megan was (as well as the fact she was a coordinator and PR expert) meant that, more often than not, Megan at least pulled her weight in dealing with everything that the PRT needed for any Public relations. Such as dealing with costume changes, setting up conferences and tv showings, keeping track of approval ratings of capes and the PRT, etc, etc.

The amount of time and effort needed to take care of all of these factors was often undervalued, as Megan in particular sometimes spent more time in other departments handling PR snafus then working in her own department or traveling to other PRT departments at their request for assistance.

It was unavoidable, given Megan’s expertise, of which she had gathered from working at Training Camp and her years of service, that she would be in such high demand.

“So…” Mike began as he came back to the table, coffee in hand. “Whats a stunning woman like you doing sitting in a place like this?”

“Mike,” Megan began firmly, already knowing where this was going. “I’m your boss, and while I don’t mind the occasional compliment, everyone likes hearing those from time to time, we’ve talked about this. Not. _Interested_. So, I’ll ask again, _would you kind stop doing it._ ”

Mike shrugged, a smile tugging at his lips. “Just some harmless complements Megan, a man has eyes and can say he likes what he sees. Besides, you still owe me a date.”

“Just because some wacko in the south named himself _HamMan_ on the account of him being disturbingly infatuated with pork, doesn’t mean that a pig has flown,” Megan groans out. “If that was the case, then Gesellschaft simply _existing_ would have landed you a date long ago.”

Yet Mike still smiled. “Can I at least get partial credit? Buy you a drink?”

Megan stared, her face like stone. “… No.”

“ _Fine,_ ” Mike moaned out like the overgrown man-child he was. “Then we’ll talk work, at least then I’ll be able to stay in your wonderful company a bit longer.”

Megan rolled her eyes at this.

“Did you manage to see the report on the newest Wards in San Diego? I think they followed your recommendation for the twin brothers.”

“That I did,” Megan replied, falling into the conversation, if only because she wanted to finish her drink before walking away. “I also saw that they didn’t do what I suggested with their newest Thinker. Those braids are far too long, if she ends up in a fight then someone can easily grab her and toss her around.”

Mike huffed and took a sip of his drink. “What did you expect, she’s a _non-combat_ Thinker. The PRT and Youth Guard likely have no plans to ever let her get _close_ to combat. She’ll be lucky to patrol the area close the HQ.”

Megan glared at her co-worker. “With her power, added to her projection ability, she could easily take on a whole team of non-powered personnel, even a few low-powered capes.”

“She needs a whole minute for her power to get up to speed,” Mike defended. “Sure, being able to push a ghost out of yourself, one that can move around and touch things, is useful and all, but the thing is like a preprogrammed robot; she tells it what to do and it does it before fading away.”

“Did you not read her psych profile?” Megan asked.

Mike looked confused. “Should I? I don’t need to know how the girl thinks, and we were just asked for a second opinion on their outfits, not to make new ones based on her _feelings._ ”

“Based on what the profile says, the girl is always pushing herself to do better, better grades, faster movements, trying to beat records in training. She’s always trying to go above and beyond what is asked of her, _including_ in using her power. Now, what do you think is going to happen when she is told that she has basically become a fluff piece for the Wards, one where the best she can hope for is dealing with a minor car accident or dispute?”

“She’s a kid, Megan, she didn’t need brass knuckles on her suit.”

“Her projection power can do _everything she can,_ ” Megan explained. “How long do you think it will take her to start looking into how to box? Or a martial art? If we… _They_ , started teaching her _now_ , rather than waiting for her to do it herself behind the PRT’s back, then we could not only keep her _safer_ , but also keep her in the Protectorate when she turns eighteen in a year and a half.”

It wasn’t uncommon for Department 46 to be asked for advice, having one of the highest turnover rates for capes (mercifully, in a good way) meant that they had learned a thing or two. And with Megan being considered second best only to the Director of Image, Glenn Chambers himself, and the Director of PR, Isaac Huntington, meant that quite a few things crossed her desk (if only from sheer volume).

Megan was well known in the PR industry, if for the wrong reasons. She was constantly butting heads with Glenn on designs, over things like colors, giving a cape that needs an outfit more leeway in designs, making things more _practical,_ and most damningly in the eyes of the PR industry, adding various layers of armor to Wards and advocating enclosed helmets whenever it could be done.

Despite this, her work was top-notch, with Glenn often praising her for her designs, how the public viewed them, how she could (and would) turn a PR disaster into a win (or at least perform damage control), often remarking that despite their differences, there was no one else he would rather be butting heads with. Plus, there were more than a few capes that owed their lives to the woman (mostly Rogues and Independents) because she had added Kevlar vests and underlinings to their costumes.

Sure, some _had_ complained about the extra weight, as well as the lack of easy movement from slightly thicker material, but they tended to shut up after getting shot at, knocked across the street, or the first time they fought an enemy that gained the upper hand.

Add this to the years of experience she had, the result was that when Megan spoke, people tended to listen.

In fact, this was one of the reasons that Megan had struggled to get as high as she had; she tended to be very outspoken about the state of costumes made by the PRT, as well as the fact that she viewed the Wards program as ineffective.

Mike sighed and ran a hand over his buzzcut. “Well, that’s ultimately her decision, if she thinks she can make it as an Independent, good for her. But while she’s in the Wards, she follows the rules set forth by the PRT and Youth Guard.”

“Those same rules prevent them from actually training the Wards in anything more than basic self-defense, as well as only teaching them how to responsibly and safely use their powers. Beyond that, it falls to the Wards themselves to figure things out.”

“Wait…” Mike began with a startled look. “The Wards program is sold as training the next generation of heroes, how can they do that if they don’t, you know, _train_ them?”

Megan shrugged at the man. “Loopholes, really. The Youth Guard has rules in place to prevent the Wards from learning to fight beyond the basics, mostly because no one wants to link the Wards and the idea of child soldiers together. But the rules do allow them to learn things while in the Wards, either by the Protectorate teaching them, or by the Wards asking to be taught themselves.”

“But you just said that the Youth Guard has rules about that sort of thing.”

“That’s why it’s called a _loophole_ ; neither the PRT or the Protectorate should be teaching the Wards how to fight someone like say, Jack Slash, but they can, and do, teach them the same basics that police officers go through, as part of the whole hero-ing thing. You know, helping stop robberies, catch criminals, uphold laws. They also use this to teach the Wards about their powers, how to use them, when and where to use them, that kind of thing.” Megan paused for a moment to take a spin of her drink before continuing.

“Doing it this way means the Wards get both training for a future career as a hero, as well as learning how to use their powers, while following the same rules that all government-backed capes follow; no going off-grid, no attacking another cape without permission first, no diving headlong into fights without checking in, no using their powers just for the hell of it, the basic stuff that every government-sponsored cape needs to know to do. With the Wards however, with the fact they are still underage, they get slotted into safe areas, patrolling places that fall within the PRT-Protectorate sphere of influence, to keep an eye on low-risk areas, while still gaining experience. This makes the Wards more like a neighborhood watch system, and as long as they aren’t sent into high-risk areas without a good and proper reason, then they can do patrols and basically can ask (or get voluntold) to go up against gangs, intercept crimes, and fight other capes, just like the Protectorate, but aren’t _actually_ being trained as child soldiers.”

“That seems like a lot of hoops to jump through just to get around the Youth Guard. Don’t the PRT and Protectorate have special rules that apply to them for this kind of thing?” asked Mike. “I mean, the President was the one that formed the Protectorate and the PRT, surely they thought about this beforehand.”

Megan shook her head while smiling at Mike’s naivety. “Not really, but that’s politics and a changing situation for you. The PRT/Protectorate was formed in the aftermath of Behemoth’s first attack, but the groundwork was being put into place for several years before that, and there were a few years of growing pains where the Protectorate and the PRT got up to speed on things. Having what is now the Wards program was something that fell to the wayside as they got places under control.”

Megan paused and thought for a moment. “… At least until they realized that they had hundreds of kids that wanted to either help out or didn’t know how to use their powers and they had to do something with them. Plus, it’s an appearance thing; if the PRT was caught sending kids into dangerous places then they would be in a lot of trouble, both with parents that have legal rights over their kids, as well as giving fuel to those that are outspoken about what and how the PRT does things. Doing it this way makes it so that it’s the _Wards_ that is willingly putting themselves into those situations. ‘Course there are investigations, punishments to be handed out after the fact, and the fact that by joining the Wards you are basically already agreeing that you are willing to fight people like the Nine or the Endbringers to save others if it comes right down to it, but for the most part, the PRT does it’s best to keep the kids out of trouble.”

Mike went silent for a moment, contemplating. “… Doesn’t seem like things are as they seem in the PRT huh? How do you know about all of this anyway?”

Megan huffed and took another drink of her coffee. “The Wards handbook is available to the public, but you start to learn and hear things both the higher you go and the longer you’re are with the PRT. Director Armstrong in particular is a fan of my work, as I have no problems coming up with dozens of new costume ideas and ways for the Case 53’s to present themselves, unlike _some_ others that I won’t mention here.”

At this, Mike frowned. It was something of an open secret that he didn’t like the case 53’s. The clearest reason that Megan had gotten was that he didn’t like their inhumanness (or monstrousness as she’d heard it been said a few times) and how fundamentally different they were from ‘normal’ people, and the same went for several types of non-standard capes.

Oh, he had no problem working in the background in PR for them, though he never went the extra mile either.

It was to be expected from a person like Mike, considering…

“Weld in particular was very happy with what I managed to get made for him,” Megan continued. “Though I must give credit to the Tinker that figured out how to make that plastic mesh; nothing else would have worked out quite as well.”

“Yeah, good for Arachne,” Mike mutters. “Though… it’s not all true, right? About the whole Wards thing?”

“… Mostly true,” Megan conceded. “Like everything else, there is a difference between what is expected, and reality. In this case, everything goes by a department by department basis, and a Youth Guard rep basis. Most know that the Wards need to learn to fight in some capacity, so most reps tend to look the other way, same goes with the Departments. Some do everything by the book, but train the Wards in their civilian identities, while others all but blatantly teach the kids the quickest way to introduce someone’s face into the ground. Some Guard reps uphold all the rules, while some of the Protectorate Ward leaders do the minimum required to get a Ward up to speed, then leave it all up to them afterwards, stepping in only if needed.”

“… okay,” Mike began. “While this does sound terrible and like something that needs to be fixed, from your tone, I can’t help but feel that there’s something else that’s bothering you about this.”

Megan glanced away and watched the passing foot traffic outside the café’s fence. On one hand, she didn’t really like Mike, on the other…

It would be good to talk to someone _else_ about this, rather than her usual cluster of people.

“… I had a report cross my desk for finalizing some costumes; several of them, actually. The profiles stated that none of them were over the age of _eight_.”

Mike frowned. “Well… that sucks, but at least in the Wards they’ll get help in using their powers, not to mention the paycheck. Get fast-tracked into a new school if needed, good healthcare, a better deal than most jobs, at least.”

“No, not really a bad deal when you think about it,” Megan conceded softly. “It just… eight-year-olds shouldn’t be having to worry about things like this. The Wards program doesn’t account for age beyond powers; if you have something that can be used in the field, the PRT can and will push you towards using your powers in that way, even if you are underage. And while working as a Ward is voluntary, the PRT can make your life miserable if you fight them on everything.”

“ _That_ , is something that I don’t believe,” Mike stated. “Sure, with the way things are on the villain front I can see the PRT getting them out young, but _eight?”_

“There is a Shaker 9 that would disagree with you; she was doing patrols when she was _ten._ Sure, she was under the tutelage of a member of the Protectorate the entire time, but she _was_ out on the streets.”

“No way, people would have talked about that.”

Megan nodded. “It happened. She’s twelve now and patrolling with a teammate instead of someone from the Protectorate. Part of me thinks it’s a position of power thing, that the Wards don’t understand that they don’t have to listen to _everything_ that someone older than them tells them to do, that they don’t know yet that adults don’t know everything. Not to mention that kids grow up being taught to listen to adults and people in positions of power over them.”

“That’s… oddly specific,” Mike said slowly with a frown. “And quite a shift in the conversation.”

“Not really,” Megan replied with a shrug. “There are more than a few adults that happily toss their kids into the Wards program, or tell them that joining it is for the best, just so that they don’t have to worry about controlling their kid, and their kid’s power, themselves. Same goes for other everyday things, like parents telling their kids not to talk to certain types of people, shaping them into future racists, or football fanatics.”

Mike leaned back in surprise, “What's wrong with football?”

“Can you name why you follow a particular team?” Megan asks. “Is it because of the team's morals, the good they do for others? Or is it a connection to color, or maybe a link to family gatherings? Because your parents enjoyed watching it? Do you do it because you _enjoy_ it, or because you are just following in the footsteps of what someone showed you how to act when you were younger?”

For several moments, Mike stared, seemingly disoriented by the barrage of questions.

“… I like cracking open a beer and relaxing in front of the TV.”

Megan rolled her eyes. “A very _male_ answer, fitting across the ages. And I hazard a guess that is something that your father did as well?”

When Mike frowned at her words, Megan continued, heedless of what he’d thought. Maybe this would get him to stop flirting with her.

“One way or another, how adults act around kids influence them. I am no stranger to this effect as well. One would think that they would gain experience through age, to remember to act differently, to not repeat the actions of the past. But it seems that age does not equate with wisdom.”

“I don’t know about that,” Mike countered. “It’s not like most kids understand how the world works, or bother to think things through. Just take a look at half of the Independents that are under twenty; they make it, maybe a year? Two, if they’re are lucky? Seems like the ones that Trigger later in life tend to survive longer, or at least are smart enough to team up with others.”

“Which is why we need better teaching of things like that, not just for the Wards, but for the Rogues and Independents, more than just the standard training about how to deal with the police, EMTs, and what do to after you’ve stopped a crime. The PRT is very much like a parent, teaching their ‘kids’ the big picture things, the ways on how not to embarrass themselves or the PRT, as well how to follow the laws and rules of the land, yet never provide teachings for all the little social aspects, leaving them to figure out things on their own.”

“… I’ll be honest here; I’m not following this reference.”

Megan sighed and snatched her coffee off the table, holding it close with both hands.

“I’m saying that the PRT focuses too much on PR, and not enough on making things _happen_. The Nine, for example: the two biggest threats? Bonesaw and the Siberian. The rest are just crazy people that are smart enough to keep their heads down when someone stronger than them passes by. If we could figure out a weakness of the Siberian, and then find a way to contain Bonesaw, then the Nine would cease to exist overnight.”

“I _doubt_ it’s that easy; the Nine have been around for _years,_ if it was a simple matter of taking them out, then it would have happened already.”

“It actually _is._ Aside from the Siberian, each member of the Nine could be taken out by Eidolon, with Bonesaw being a danger only because of what she could _do_. Even Crawler would be easy if you planned for him.”

Mike huffed. “Crawler, _easy_. Sure.”

“ _Sure_ , just find a power that destroys things outright. Or, if you can’t find that, someone like Narwhal could hold him in place, then you’d use something like hundreds of gallons of containment foam and concrete to seal him up; or _hell_ , I’m sure that there’s a few Grey Boy bubbles that we could drop him into.”

“And what, just keep him around?”

“Or throw him at Behemoth,” Megan said with a shrug. “I doubt that he could survive _that_. Tough he may be, but I don‘t think his regeneration powers won’t stand up to _exploding_ _from the inside._ ”

“… and on the off chance that he does?”

Mike threw a hand up to ward off Megan’s glare. “Hey! Just asking. He is very tough after all.”

“Then we throw him into the _Sun_.”

“… _Okay_ then,” Mike said slowly. “You’ve obviously put some thought into this.”

“ _Obviously_ ,” Megan parroted. “Did you forget what my job is? PR. _Public Relations;_ I may not be a field agent, but I’ve read countless reports on powers, villains, heroes, and everything that could be related to them, all for the sole purpose of trying to figure out the best way to spin it so that the public doesn’t panic. If you knew half the shit I’ve seen…”

Megan shook her head, and turned away, gazing out into the street.

“And… how does this whole thing relate to parents?” Mike asked. “Because that’s the part where you lost me.”

“… did your parents ever tell you that they knew better?”

Mike paused for a moment, eyes looking at Megan warily. “ _Yes_ ,” he drew out. “That they did.”

“Then they also tried, at some point, to tell you what to think, how to act, and what was best for you. Most parents do this because they have their child's best interests at heart, and have learned a few things in their lives, but at least some of those things they did were based upon their _own_ experiences: things that shaped them, gave them prejudices, ones that they then would try and propagate them onto _you_.”

“ _Yes_ , part of what you were taught likely included things like how not to be an asshole, how to say please and thank you, how to do good in school/life, and how to act in a way that doesn’t leave you alone all your life. But then there were the other things, the things that your parents had feelings for, and then pushed onto you because that’s what _they_ wanted you to do and act, rather than providing the tools and support to make their own decisions.”

“So the analogy here is that the PRT is teaching the Wards that it’s _their_ way that’s the best,” Mike half asked.

“In blunt words, yes,” Megan confirmed. “Every parent fails in some way; it may be a minor thing, a failed teaching in how to act, or just in making sure their kid knows their way around life. How many parents do you see just letting their kids act out over the stupidest of things? Or arguing with them over it? Things that could be solved if the parents just talked about them? How much of it could be solved if they realized that just because they’re older, doesn’t mean that their experiences line up with kids.’ Or that they should just listen to them when they say, ‘because I told you so.’”

“I sense bitterness there, on the subject of parents,” Mike stated dryly, as he took a sip of his coffee.

Megan huffed at the man. “I just so happen to think things would just be better if you had to take regular classes on how to be a parent, even while you are having the kids. No one really teaches anyone how to be one after all, so they end up doing their best and screw up in the end _somehow_.”

“Really?” Mike asked. “Same goes for your own parents? At least, that’s what I’m guessing this is coming from.”

“… it was… more complicated than teenage rebellion with mine,” Megan said after a moment. “They weren’t ever really _my_ _parents,_ not in the typical way. But yes, what they wanted, and what they tried to teach me didn’t quite mesh with how I discovered the world worked, which drove a wedge between us. But let’s just say that… in the end, we didn’t see eye-to-eye on many things, and things ended on bad terms. Still, despite what they all said about my choices and about my decisions, here I am, safe, sound, and perfectly healthy. While their lives pretty much got wrecked by their actions in the end.”

“That makes two of us, as my parents were dicks as well, and I turned out fine,” Mike said with a soft smile. “I’ve got a good-paying job, nice hours, benefits, and I get to hang out with some lovely ladies.” At this, Mike winked at Megan, prompting her to roll her eyes.

“There were all sorts of things said about me growing up,” Mike continued. “Yet, I avoided all the heavy drinking, the late-night partying, the mid-life crisis (so far), even to this day. One might even call me one of those ‘good guys,’ you know, the ones that finish last? Hah, I don’t even have any driving tickets!”

 _‘That’s because you’re smarter than the average Fallen follower, and likely under orders from the Crowleys to serve as a mole by_ not _doing anything_ stupid _.’_ Megan thought.

It was a funny thing, trusting people. You have to make and accept what they show and tell you, never knowing what darkness lurked with them.

Your next-door neighbor, the same one that would make a cake for anyone’s birthday, could be making bombs in his bedroom in an attempt to kill the lizard people that had taken over town hall, and you could never know. Because the best, or worst as the case may be, ones of those types, were the ones that firmly believed in their cause, the unshakable ones, despite whatever was thrown their way, and were willing to do anything to further it.

Even if it took _years_.

What was even funnier however, was that if Mike (real name Dwayne) knew the whole truth of _who_ she was and _what_ she’d _done_ , Megan figured that he would shit his pants on the spot.

Or drop to his knees and start _worshipping her_.

It was always tough to tell which it would be, especially with people like the Fallen followers. On one hand, mass murder of what many would view as a sub-group of humans, rightly so considering that they were _clones_. Still, just like they Fallen themselves, not _all_ of the Vat-Born were mindless brutes.

At least _he_ hasn’t killed anyone (in the city that was) since joining the office nearly five years ago.

Though it was hard to track his movements when he left to go and scratch that itch every few months. He was at least smart in _that_ regard, going off-grid as he did. And she still didn’t know if he was just a psychopath or got off on killing.

As far as Sentinel had dug up, Dwayne was the loner nerd in high school, leaving him mostly friendless for years, until he went to college.

Once there he used his growing computer skills to climb the academic ranks but was still subject to bullying not that uncommon to someone of that era and position. This changed when one Drew Jones vanished from college.

As one of the biggest bullies to the man that would become Mike, some pointed their fingers at the college student, citing revenge, but to no avail. With no body to be found and no evidence located, Dwayne slid past any sort of punishment, yet still dropped out of collage within a year.

Most suspiciously, this just so happened to occur around the same time that there was a surge of recruiting at his college for followers of the Endbringer cults.

Then he disappeared for a few years, reemerging inside the PRT offices as a new hire.

While he managed to hide from the PRT, data mining was something of a specialty for Megan, even if it wasn’t something she used much for her current job.

Blind luck, really, Megan herself was looking into the same files as ‘Mike’ was, prompting her to better investigate his past (something else she was good at) and uncovering the truth.

Whoever had made his fake ID was top-notch, and the man had seemingly dedicated himself to the new personality. But it wasn’t backstopped, and it all fell apart when she checked out the physical records.

The ones that didn’t _actually exist._

From there it was a simple matter to bounce the data over to Sentinel and Watchdog and watch them (via guiding them with carefully laid leads, as the methods _she_ used weren’t exactly… legal) slowly circle around the mole, cutting off any chance of escape.

Downside, they were _slowly_ circling him.

In terms of skill, Mike wasn’t anything special: he had a good grasp of color-coordination, was a fast reader, was a team-player, and was solid when it came to sifting through the public data, but he wasn’t _unique_. Department 46 had dozens of men and women just like him, and the only reason that he had climbed the ranks as he did was because of his time spent working within the PRT.

It wouldn’t be the first time that a gang, villain, or agency placed a mole within the PRT’s ranks, it wasn’t even the first time that someone with links to the _Fallen_ had gotten inside (though Mike was one of the few ones that had managed to hide his nature for years, even while taking trips out of a town to kill people). Given the size of the PRT, it was actually depressingly common to hear about a worker getting jail time for selling info to villains.

For Megan however, it was happening far, _far_ too slowly with Mike, as not a day went by that he didn’t try and flirt with her.

Worst part was that it was nothing really that _forward;_ a compliment here, asking to go out for drinks there, a date request at times. And while Megan wanted nothing more than to fire the man just to get him to _shut up_ , she couldn’t just do it because…

1st: While it was annoying her, the amount of interaction that they had on a weekly basis was really rather slim, largely due to the fact that they didn’t really tend to cross paths until work actually brought them together.

2nd: she’d yet to hear anything else from more than a few other female co-workers, all single as well, as he kept it clean to the married/in-relationship ones, making it seem just like he was having ‘harmless’ fun.

3rd: you don’t just throw away potentially good intel, because _why_ and _how_ the _fuck_ did the Fallen get a mole into the high-ranking _Public_ _Relations_ division of the PRT?

And most damning, 4th: she was a woman in power, high ranking enough that she could have him fired _very_ _easily_. But after working in public perception, in one form or another, for as long as she had, Megan knew that such an action could easily come back to bite her.

Men and their delicate egos. Even after all the _years_ of civilization, some of just couldn’t stand not being the top dog over a female.

Plus, she was a big-picture type of girl; Mike was ‘harmless’ enough to her that she would/could bear his flirting while there were questions being asked about what he was doing.

Questions that the PRT intel groups wanted answered, and while Megan could just _make him go away_ just fine by herself, then that would open up a whole new _slew_ of questions.

It would be one thing if it looked like he was going to get away, or if she figured that the PRT had nothing more to be gained from the man still being _alive_ (as she would always plant what needed to be planted), but then there were the Oaths that she followed.

Sentinel just liked to take things slowly, and he wasn’t _that_ bad of a ‘source’ on the Crowleys, even given that he was entirely too confident in his fake IDs. Someone that knew what they were doing would have had a bolt plan, and would have based at least a few things on reality rather than making up everything.

Like she did.

Mike had done nothing of the sort. Maybe he had schizophrenia? And really thought that he was ‘Mike?’ Possibly, he certainly acted the sort at times. Yet he always sought her out to ask her about things, what news she’d heard of, if she knew anything new about what was happening in the PRT involving this or that, seemingly to simply learn what he needed to get higher in the bureaucracy that was the PRT.

Of course, Megan was using that to her advantage, giving him all sorts of knowledge about the PRT and the Protectorate, but all things that people could either figure out themselves, or ask and get answered at a press conference.

However, she wasn’t the only one that Mike was doing this with, and while most of what he’d gotten was ‘harmless’ (as much as having a mole inside your organization was, it was still a major breach of InfoSec after all), there were some concerns within Sentinel about the Fallen gaining some type of advantage.

Something that Megan doubted would happen, even with what she’d talked about today. Most of it was watercooler talk, stuff that would only be useful to rally idiots against the PRT. The truth was that she had slightly over-exaggerated some things: like Vista, she had _asked_ to join patrols, and had to jump through several hoops just to do that.

But disinformation had an advantage: whenever and wherever the Fallen had decided to regurgitate the info supplied by Mike, Sentinel would know that there was a link back to him.

Plus, every time he stopped to talk to her, she was hacking his phone for the hell of it. That alone made it easy to track what he was doing before and after he talked to people.

(For example, a quick check when he had showed up revealed that he trying to track her movements for nearly two weeks now, something she had a real **_problem_** with.)

And then there was this entire conversation; while Megan did in part believe in most of it, she was overselling it, taking it over the top, in hopes that it would freak him out and drive him off.

At least for a bit. Because, come on, she was basically ranting and going off the deep end like one of those crazy conspiracy theorists at this point.

(There were still a few nuggets of truth locked away in what she had said however, it just wasn’t _quite_ as bad as she made it out to be.)

Instead, he was letting her talk, adding in a comment here and there, just to keep her going. All the while trying to hack her phone.

He wouldn’t get anything worthwhile out of it, aside from being able to follow her, as she never used it for anything but PRT related work. But the implications were unsettling.

It spoke of an increase of interest in her, something she would not stand for.

Her Oaths and the Plan prevented her from simply killing the man and making it look like an accident (no matter how much he deserved it), and Sentinel had rules and legal proceedings to follow, so they could dot their i’s and cross their t’s; but if Mike thought he could make moves on her (to what end, she didn’t know; killing her? Seducing her? Getting more information from her?), she would take things into her own hands, Sentinel be _damned._

Megan never liked the Fallen, never liked anything religious in the first place; it was far too easy for people to twist things like that around, to turn people against one another over an unprovable idea.

Humans as a species were far too fickle and self-centered to exist peacefully with multiple styles of religions, unless they were all forced to coexist by said religions making it so (even then, things could be iffy considering… humans were _humans_ ).

Not that it was (entirely) the religions themselves fault, as much as the followers; even without something to grasp onto, people still would fight over anything and everything.

And even then, there would still be people like Dwayne, who wished for nothing more than to do something that made _them_ happy.

Regardless of the cost to others.

Despite this, there _were_ some benefits to religions, a sense of security, having rules to follow, lessons to be taught via history; but again, _humans_ being _human_ tended to ruin things.

And no matter how much she wanted to grab some people by the shoulder and shake them, she couldn’t. Some people refused to follow any path but the one they decided to follow, and Megan couldn’t - _wouldn’t_ – force things like that upon them like things were forced upon her.

Which was another Oath, one that helped stay her hand against Mike. The rules and laws of the land said that he needed to be brought to justice. As such, with both her Oaths in place, as well as the eyes of the law on him, Mike got to live.

For now, because things would change once the Plan was finally set in motion, and her Oaths were no longer needed.

Megan had to chuckle however at what Mike said, despite what she really thought. “Sorry,” she apologized. “Old traumas, and a bit of personal beliefs spilled in there. I know that there is more going on than what I’m seeing, but I joined the PRT because I believed in what they were doing. I may not be on the frontlines of fighting capes, but I’m damn good at what I do. I just _hate_ seeing people being _stupid_ because they don’t bother to stop and think things through; and having worked as long as I have, I’ve seen plenty of idiots, both inside the PRT and not.”

“Yet despite what the PRT has done up to now, I can’t leave; I’ve invested far too much of my life into it. And while I wish that I could make the changes it needs, I know that they will never come to pass without some other major changes happening first. So I stick around, for the little guys, the kids, the Independents that fall under the umbrella, to make sure that _someone_ has their an eye out for _their_ best interests, and not just that of their parent organization.”

“That explains why you are always offering to help with the Wards then?” asked Mike, as if he needed the clarification. He was also checking his phone, Megan almost wanted to say that was because she had scared him off and that he was looking for an out.

Truthfully? He was likely checking to see if his hack had worked.

“In a way,” Megan agreed. “My personal life and upbringing _has_ influenced me, and there were many things I missed out on due to the actions of others, and from things far outside of my control. So yes, I want to help them, and I _will_ help them.”

“Each to our own then,” Mike added, to which Megan hummed.

“…If you asked me about this,” began Megan after a few moments of silence. ‘Then I can ask _you_ about it.”

“Why did _you_ join the PRT, Mike?”

Mike blinked at her and opened his mouth to reply….

**_Brzzzz_ **

On the table, Megan’s phone rattled, and kept rattling, drawing the eyes of the pair upon it.

“Must be important,” Mike commented as Megan reached for it.

Of course it was, Megan thought, why else would it…

_Oh._

“… Something wrong?” Mike asked after a minute of waiting.

Megan replied without taking her eyes off the screen. “Public Trigger happened in a school.”

Mike winced. “Ouch, rough, but… not uncommon.”

Megan hummed tunelessly, as she read over the report about Brocton Bay, and quite possibly…

A new Dreamer.

… Well, it seemed that Mike’s time would come sooner, rather than later.

Megan _hated_ loose ends, after all.

* * *

_“There's a point where it tips_

_There's a point where it breaks_

_There's a point where it bends_

_And a point we just can't take_

_Anymore~”_

Megan let the door to her apartment shut behind her and shuffled the folders around in her arms in her attempt to place her keys on the counter next to the door.

Her apartment was a stylist’s showing of a modern place, from the colors of the walls (a soft shade of light blue) to the furniture itself (matching sets of grey and assortments of other colors). Even the kitchen was filled with some of the newest appliances to leave the factory floor in under five years.

In fact, if it wasn’t for the little bits out of place things (a mug here, a magazine there, a few pictures that didn’t match the décor) one would have easily believed that the apartment was a showcase home.

With the door opening right next to the counter separating the living room from the kitchen, Megan could see her entire apartment; from the fridge, to the tv, and the short hallway that lead to the bedrooms.

It wasn’t quite an open floor plan, given the counter/half-wall that separated part of the living room from the kitchen, but other than that the whole place was rather spartan in terms of what it contained.

Megan bypassed the kitchen and living rooms, heading down the short hall, heading to the ‘guest’ room, still singing softly.

_“There's a line that we'll cross_

_And there's no return_

_There's a time and a place_

_No bridges left to burn_

_Anymore~”_

Not that there was a bed in it, the wall of computer equipment and screens taking up one side would have sleeping rather impossible, and that wasn’t even counting the shelves and other storage containers in the room.

She didn’t have a chair, not that it bothered Megan, she could stand for hours, easily, and given the placement of the few keyboards, sitting down would be counterproductive.

Once there, she began to trawl through the net, looking for any info she could find about what happened at a school called Winslow High.

For someone like Megan, pulling up data about the Brockton Bay Incident, from sources on the internet and PRT records she could get access to, as well as the ones she _didn’t_ have access to, was child’s play.

She was sure to hide her data signature however; Dragon might have been shackled and there was no reason she would even do much as glance in her digital direction, but that was no reason to get complacent.

And even if she did (or was ordered to), Megan was sure that Dragon would fail to find anything, as she lacked kind of knowledge and skills that Megan had gained over her many years of life.

Dragon was outmatched in other areas as well, like hardware. Still, for the time that it took to cover her tracks vs any chance of exposure, there was literally no reason _not_ to do it.

Unlike most of her ‘family,’ she did not run _headlong_ _towards the objective_ thank you very much.

She’d always preferred the stealth approach, a byproduct of her history.

_“We can't just wait with lives at stake_

_Until they think we're ready_

_Our enemies are gathering_

_The storm is growing deadly~”_

PRT paperwork laid forgotten on a tabletop, sharing space with several half-finished clay models supported by stands. One had some of the basic colorings done: the light brown of the ‘cloth’ covering the shoulders and head then extended down like sashes to the back and sides, which had the main strokes of test paint placed as well.

A pity, she had finally found a good metallic purple for the main body that she wanted to try.

In no time at all, Megan had the complete data on the Incident, including the most recent reports, and was reading over them all.

… Action would need to be taken, they were actually considering Birdcaging the ‘parahuman’ responsible, which just would _not **do.**_

Lucky, with a bit of … creative reporting and data alteration, Megan knew that she could file a report to the Director in charge of the Bay, outlining a different plan.

The city was dying, Megan could tell that at a glance, but the PRT wasn’t willing to pull out in any case; they still wanted their image to stay in good standing, despite the facts showing that the city wouldn’t last five years without the PRT mediating things or the gangs really stepping things up for the comfort of the citizens.

Hell, even with the PRT staying, they were only keeping the city afloat enough for it to collapse economically.

With her position, no one would bat an eye if she filed a report, especially if it she ‘posted’ the report in a few days. It wasn’t _that_ uncommon for reports like that to show up after something like this happened; Megan in particular was well known for her opinions on public Trigger Events, and she was vocal enough about the younger generation of capes, as well as the lack of support of non-PRT capes in general, that even Director Piggot wouldn’t bat an eye at seeing an report from her.

Brockton Bay. A city with one of the highest cape population per-capita in the United States. Three major gangs (although the Merchants only fit in that regard due to their drug peddling), a family-based Independent group, a Protectorate group that nearly had two full teams, and more than a dozen minor Rogues that worked the city’s lesser areas.

Each of the gangs even presented a unique problem: There was Lung, who was well-known enough to warrant concern, the Empire 88, which had definite links to Gesellschaft, and the Merchants, who were major drug dealers and makers.

… Megan could have effectively removed them from the city within a week or two, she reflected as she continued her song.

Lung could be dealt with an simple ambush, hitting him hard and fast enough to overwhelm him before he ramped up. The Empire would fall under the same tactics, only the aim would be to force them to collapse their territory into something smaller and therefore easier to destroy in one (or several if needed) swift hits. The Merchants were the ones that would take the longest, as destroying and tainting their drugs to cripple them from the inside would take a bit more patience, but it was doable.

From that it was a simple matter of making sure that the BBDP and the PRT ENE kept the advantage, and that any kinds of escalation was slammed into hard to prevent the status quo from flipping too hard back the other way.

And she would let the self-titled ‘heroes’ take care of the rest.

_“Now it's time to say goodbye_

_To the things we loved_

_And the innocence of youth~”_

Unfortunately, the Grandmaster had invoked the Oaths, a set of rules and guidelines to be followed by those of the Clan of the Moonlit Cradle.

The trick was, these Oaths were _voluntary_ ; Megan could break them at any time, as could all the others. But that was the _point_.

Control, self-discipline, over one's actions and decisions, _that’s_ what the Oaths were all about. It was what stopped Megan from arranging an ‘accident’ to occur to Mike, or any other person that broke her Code.

Not to say that she, hadn’t killed anyone since taking the Oaths, it was just that they needed to let the rules of the land take charge first.

And when they failed, when they didn’t step up to stop all the horrors that lurked under the surface of civilization, especially now? With parahumans running amuck?

… well, there was a reason that some ended up dead. People like Gavel could only be tolerated for so long before something needed to happen. After seeing what String Theory’s tech did to Tāwhirimātea, coupled with her actions using said tech in offering ‘safety’ from being her next randomly selected target, and later making the threat to knock the _moon_ out of its orbit, she had escalated to the point of NOPE.

Which was sad really, half of her tech used parts and power sources that were (relatively) replicable and could have given birth to a fusion powerplant by 2009, with the possibility of cold fusion (with some… outside help) happening in 2014 if had she gotten the right connections and _hadn’t_ gone straight for the Mad Scientist Laughing As She Blew Stuff Up route.

‘Course, this was all a hypothetical model done by Tin Mother, so it was open to interpretation of what would really happen.

Parts of her Oaths stated that she would protect those that needed protecting, which was one of the reasons that she had joined the PRT, and later on, worked so hard for the Wards, Rogues, and Independents.

And now her services were required elsewhere.

A warble sound in the room, and Megan extended her arm as if to allow a bird to land on it.

Something the size of a medium-sized dog floated from its resting place on a shelf, gently landing its semi-rounded body onto her arm.

Largely grey, with lines of gold running over it, the eye would be drawn to the two half-sunken cylinders implanted on the sides of its ‘head,’ but much of peoples’ focus would be the one in the center of its ‘face’.

There, a circle with an elongated T rested, with the top part of the T extending past the range of the circle. The way it moved, one could count it as an eye, despite only having superficial similarity.

“What do you think Bo’nox?” Megan asked. “A trip to Brockton Bay seems in order.”

Her companion lifted itself up from her arm, its two ‘tendrils,’ almost like what might find on a squid, twisting about as it floated through the air, its ‘face’ moving back and forth to track the many screens.

The Shade gave a mix between an organic warble and a mechanical beep.

“… Thought as much… though I wonder, will this new Dreamer find themselves lost on the path like those few before them?”

“Or will she arise, and take her place among the stars?”

Bo’nox floated upwards as Megan moved away, following her as she went to the same wall from whence he came. There, she reached out and grasped a odd-shaped red container, like a distorted teardrop, before slowly turning it over to look at it.

_“With a doubt in our minds_

_Why we chose this life_

_And at times we can't help wondering...”_

The wall where the container was had a collection of items, some were obviously guns, though the materials of a few seemed more organic. Others were something _else_.

Like the one that Megan now reached a hand out to run her fingers along.

A slab of white-silver with a cutting edge of black; longer than her entire torso, it rested on the wall, held in place by heavy bolts. It was a sword, its hilt made of the same white-silver metals as the back edge of the blade. A set of rings, one far larger than the other, inlaid with gold, rested above where one would grip, from there the blade was connected to the hilt with an gold array, almost forming what one could say was an artistic eye.

Most would consider such a blade to be unwieldy, as the size and weight would prevent anyone but a Brute from using it effectively.

But Megan had become skilled in its use over the years. Training and experience were good teachers for Paracesis, the Sentient Slayer.

Such a history the blade had, both bloody and streaked in death, as with all Tenno weapons. Others were faster, quicker, some could destroy an entire wall with a swing, could leave a trail of poison, or sever armor just as easy as flesh, but few bore the same marks as the Paracesis.

It was a weapon of _war,_ the Paracesis, unforgiving in design, brutal in execution, it’s blade seemingly hungering for blood.

Megan let her fingers run over the merge point of the blade, where the black and white-silver met, as the tone of her Clan’s adopted song shifted into its final notes, reflecting the Paracesis’ own origins.

_“Were we born to **fight** and **die**?_

**_Sacrificed_ ** _for one huge **lie**?_

_Are we **heroes** keeping **peace**?_

_Or are we **weapons** pointed at the **enemy** so **someone** else can claim a **victory**?”_

* * *

Welcome to the Nexus

Currently viewing: Tin_Mother discussion Stream.

Please follow all terms and rules when posting.

■

**Stream starting in one minute.**

_Praise the Red Text, our savior and messenger of our lord_.

_Yah! I’m early!_

_Yet!_

_Well the praise guy is here again._

_Whats this one about again?_

_!Time._

_Yeet!*_

_I managed to meet Lucid the Mod last Meet-up, he was nice!_

**Stream stating in...**

**3**

_Yeeeeeet!_

_Here we go!_

**2**

_Made it!_

_Can we stop that Yeet guy? Its all he ever says_

**1**

… A voice in the night, a half-remembered dream, rising to the surface of your consciousness, from backbrain to forebrain, a sound to a vision, pullin' up and... knockity-knock. Hello, Dreamers. You all hearin' me in the here and now?

_…_

_Hey Tin Mama!_

_Hello!_

_Shes back!_

_Yeet!_

_Yes! I caught a stream!_

_…_

Hah hah, good to hear you Dreamers, it’s been a while, hasn’t it? 

No need to say anythin' through, I’m just a hand in yours, a voice for your speechless, a bedtime story for the sleepless. The name's Tin Mother, you might know me as one of the PHO moderators but oh am I so much more than that, and I got somethin' to say, sweet things.

_…_

_Ah shit._

_Love you Tinny!_

_When’s the art contest again?_

_Loot drops?_

_Mac-10?_

_Endbringer attack?_

_Poka dots!_

_…_

A Nightmare is coming for you, one that will rock your world to the very foundations.

Somethin's out there, Dreamers. Tin Mother can feel it. Pulling at her waters like the Moon pulls the tides. Something big, and something old, oh so _very_ Old. Yet it _knows_ us, has _seen_ us, it’s been watching for so long, that it itself might have even forgotten for how long it has been. 

What will it say, I wonder, the day it finally steps up to our door and knocks?

Rap

Tap

Tap

At our chamber door-

Only this and nothin’ more.

So… will you live the Dream Dreamers? Or get carried away by the waves of that bright shapeless Ocean?

_…_

_Profound, yet terrifying._

_Is it going to be another Endbringer?_

_This isn’t ominous at all, but its Tin Mother so expected._

_Mr Poe, is that you?_

_Yeet?_

_…_

In a world like this, it can be hard to have hope, when the man owns the system and the system serves to save the man, from _us_. But I'm here, Dreamers. To help you pierce that false fog. We'll chase it away with acts of beauty and - succeed or fail - face the foe, eyes open. As someone once said: If nothing saves us from death, may love at least save us from life.

So… how has everybody been? Heh, I know how you’ve all been, and I know what ‘ou all _want_ , so lets get started.

For those waiting for the next Meet-up, I got good news and bad. The bad is we’re gonna have to move locations, the good is…

■

You have left the Stream: ‘WallisHalberd’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: is this too dialog heavy? It feels too dialog heavy to me, and my god over 10000 words! Gah! My brain!  
> Really though, the entire convo in the beginning refused to not be written that way, no matter what I did it ended up circling back to the same subject!  
> I mean, sure, it feels like an organic conversation that anyone could have (and given what little we know about the subject it ‘works’ fine), doesn’t mean that I feel it fits.  
> What was supposed to be a chapter on introducing a new character and her job (and that little bit about the mole), turned into some of a critique on the Wards and how the PRT treats them.  
> Given that we have limited knowledge about the inner workings of the PRT (even taking into account the handbook), I do feel that things could work out that way, given expectations vs reality and legal reasonings. After all, the only in-depth look at how the Wards operate that we get is in the quests (limited at best) and in BB, both of those situations are very unlikely reflective of the entire Wards program.  
> … this of course doesn’t stop me from glaring at that part and hating it.  
> I’m sure some of you will have ideas on how to make this shorter, but after a certain point I just threw my hands up and walked away to let it write itself and figured that I’ll use it as character exposition.  
> Still I’m keeping it as is; the time that it took me to do was far too much for me to toss it away.  
> Oh and because I don’t want to make another post for this thing, Coil and him being with the PRT:  
> In Interlude 16, Thomas (aka future Coil) states:  
> “Oh, I did mention I wouldn’t be on the team in the future. Not because of any injuries, mind you. I’m facing a stay in prison. My captain and I were the only ones left,” Thomas knit his fingers together and rested them on his stomach, looking very calm. “He grabbed the rope ladder first, but he didn’t climb fast enough. I shot him.”  
> Then:  
> “Well, it doesn’t matter. A few years of my life. I don’t expect I’ll be there for too long. There were extenuating circumstances, and the PRT doesn’t want me talking to anyone about what happened.”  
> Yet, somehow in 2011, in Monarch 16.9, after Piggot gets removed and at the end of the chapter:  
> “Filling in for the interim is Commander Thomas Calvert. When asked about this new placement, the PRT reported that Commander Calvert served as a PRT field agent before an honorable discharge. For the past several years he has offered his expertise to the PRT as a paid consultant in parahuman affairs for New York, Brockton Bay and Boston, later serving as a field commander for the PRT strike squads. The PRT expresses full confidence in Commander Calvert’s ability to handle the daunting task of Brockton Bay’s parahuman-”  
> So, Coil got a stay in prison, then managed to work his way back into the PRT, and became entrusted enough to be a replacement for a Director, just as planed.  
> Which we never really got a full understating of, the plan that is. Sure we know how it ended, but was getting Piggot’s job the end goal the entire time? Or was he just working towards an end goal of controlling the city and went with the flow?  
> Food for thought.


	21. 3.1 Firewalker

_Fire._

_Fire is the test of gold; adversity, it is what makes men strong. Is it no wonder that the entirely of civilizations have built themselves upon their indifferent flames?_

_The fires of industry, the fires of rage, the fires of life, the fires of love._

_The fires of war._

_No war has started from cold ash; heat, fuel, and a spark - all are required for a war to erupt. One simply has to view the Old War to see this truth._

_An old myth comes to mind. A legend from a time long past, spoke of mortals stealing fire from the hoarding Gods, turning themselves into shapers of their own destinies._

_And getting cast out in the process._

_Ironic then, how when we played with fire, we expected things to be different. For we viewed ourselves as better than the lesser castes, as if our divinity…_

_Would make us fireproof._

_What matters most is not how one controls the fire, but how well you walk through it. That was something that many my fellow Orokin failed to learn._

_Still, it was something to be said of how it took two blazes to destroy our empire. But destroyed it was; of all people, I should know._

_For I was the one to give the second fire its spark, to ignite the flame._

_A lesson then; playing with fire is bad for those who burn themselves. For the rest of us - it is a very great pleasure._

** \---Worm-In-Waiting--- **

_March 21 th_

There were several locations across the Docks that one could use for a meeting, the one that Lisa had picked was just far enough away from the Boardwalk that it was unlikely they would be spotted, but close enough that she could leg it if necessary. Which was important, it could mean the difference between her making it out alive or not if things went badly.

It would pay to be cautious, both with dealing with her ‘Boss’ and with who her contact.

She didn’t expect him come alone. Show _up_ alone yes, but she knew that there would be someone just waiting in the background. So, she waited, lounging against the wall of a dilapidated building, half hidden in an alley, the sun rapidly setting, in full costume.

Brian would have called her stupid right now, but if he had known the full details, he would be in full panic mode; finding what his real ‘Boss’ could and would do would send him for a loop.

A car turned down the street, heading towards her. Tattletale eyed it as it approached. It was nondescript, black, and slightly larger than a standard one.

Therefore, out of place for the area.

_Not a custom vehicle; luxury class of standard car, not bought, not stolen, but ‘borrowed.’ Used as a show of power for outsiders._

Not that he needed it, Tattletale reflected as the car pulled up. After all…

There were very few people that would go looking for a fight against _Lung._

The villain in question stepped from the now stopped vehicle, wearing only jeans, loafers, and a wrinkled dress shirt, unbuttoned of course. All the better to showcase the numerous tattoos that covered his six-foot muscular frame, depicting all types of dragons from Eastern mythology. His mask followed a pattern of simplicity; steel, crafted into the shape of a dragon face, with painted with swirls of red and orange around the eye holes as the only splash of color.

Lung moved, each step conveying confidence, not of the, ‘I’m in charge’ kind, nor of the kind that conveyed self-assurance of ones position.

This was the type of walk that simply _was,_ the kind that said, ‘I am walking.’

It was a subtle thing, the positioning of the shoulders, the moments of the arms, legs, hands, even how Lung held his head gave a clue to the man.

Granted, Tattletale was cheating, but still…

Rather than the walk of a man that had gone toe-to-toe with an entire Protectorate team and managed to fight them off to the point that left him you alone, this walk could be mistaken for an disgruntled jerk passing you on the street.

Tattletale knew that this was in part of who Lung _was;_ he didn’t care about the showmanship side of being a cape, not like the others. Let Kaiser stand and make speeches, Lung had shown his strength; only the foolish (and stupid, like the Merchants in one occasion) dared to fight him.

So why bother moving like a predator or a king, Lung was _The Dragon_.

Lung had managed to get so powerful that he didn’t need a nickname. Just change his cape name to English and add a great big ‘The.’

Tattletale didn’t quite know what Dragon thought of it all, given the whole set of ‘rules’ about cape names, but considering what she’d managed to accomplish (plus the fact she never spoke up about it to him) Tattletale figured she didn’t care.

Lung stopped just out of arms reach of Tattletale, who shifted from her spot on the wall into the alley proper to gain a bit more room.

It was a power play; Lung wanted to show Tattletale that he had nothing to fear from her by showing up at this meeting, that it was _Tattletale_ that had to fear Lung. By getting into her personal space, he showed that he feared no attack from her, and he cared not for her feelings. They both know why they were there, _so just get on with it._

In other words, if this meeting was a trap or a waste of time, then it was _her_ that was going to get hurt, and then Lung was just going to walk away.

Tattletale winced at her power activating and clamped down a bit harder on it. She still hadn’t fully recovered from… whatever had happened a few days ago. Furthermore, in contrast of how her power normally acted, it did not seem to even want to help her in figuring out what had happened. Usually, whenever she encountered something out of the norm, things like Winslow, a case 53 cape, another power in use around her that she hadn’t seen before, her power would push forward, almost… happily, supplying information, even if it lead nowhere.

But with the apparition, it was silent. Tattletales only guess was that it was a cape that could hide from powers, or that she was actually hallucinating.

Both options were equally terrifying.

Blood-shot eyes gazed at her, waiting. Another gesture from Lung; _she_ was the one that called for this meeting, now, _what did she want?_

Some part of Lisa’s mind remarked that the other side of this statement, made it sound like Lung was taking orders from _her_. She doubted that he’d find that as amusing as she did.

Tattletale lined her arms to the side and bowed.

_“Hai ni aisatsu shite kurete, arigatō.”_

Lung remained unmoved, not reacting at all to his mother tongue. Tattletale rose from her bow and continued, letting her power out just a bit

_“Kono kaigi o rikuesuto shita no wa-”_

“ _Dispense_ with the _pleasantries,_ ” Lung stated in an heavily accented growl. “You have stated that you have information, which you state that I require. I doubt this. But, a Thinker of your power… it would be unwise to ignore you, just as I know this is an unlikely trap for the same reason.”

“Well, been using Yūrei to keep an eye on me, Lung? I’m flattered.” Which wasn’t good, Tattletale would have to talk to Grue about security for the loft _and_ listen to him come up with plans to move, _again._

“No.” Tattletale breathed a hidden sigh of relief. “The Ruby Dreams Casino. The locks were not picked, nor where the keypads forced. You _knew_ where the keys were, as well as the codes. All guards were taken out, no one stopped you from entering or exiting. A _flawless_ job. Seemingly too flawless.”

“The Undersiders pride ourselves on professionalism,” Tattletale quipped.

“The actions of your teammate, Hellhound, suggest otherwise,” Lung rumbled out.

Tattletale winced. What had Bitch done now? Granted, she tended to keep to herself unless it involved dogs, and they _had_ imparted the importance of _not_ breaking up _every_ dog fighting ring she heard about.

They couldn’t take afford to take that kind of heat from the Empire.

The problem of a teammate aside, Tattletale let her power go just a bit-

_Knows about job, heard about job; wasn’t there, others talked about it, hard to cover thief up. Leak from most likely a guard, several likely lost their jobs due to failure to stop crime; several likely to join other gangs, most likely Empire based on-_

-only to cut it off. _‘Try again power, about Lung and the casino this time please.’_

_No links to the casino, ABB members likely still visit; one of few casinos in town that opens doors to capes; possibility of ABB using casino to shift money. ABB would not store own money at casino, still would affect morale at temporary loss of gambling. Investigated; too smooth of a job, no obvious leaks, keys still pulled from hiding places. Casino used infosec to mitigate risk of inside-job theft by hiding spare keys and distributing codes among the employees; Lung has a source inside casino, used process of elimination based on power sets of teammates._

Some would look at Lung and other see the man that forced a gang into working for him, or the man who fought the local Protectorate Team to the point that _they_ viewed the risks of fighting him as too great. It was easy to think that Lung was a common (superpowered) thug that would simply smash his way through things. In truth? The man would not have gotten as far as he did, taking control over _all_ the Asian gangs in the city, holding his own against the PRT, the Empire, and the Merchants if he was unintelligent.

Less surprising was the fact that Lung knew about the job (that was kinda the point), and more surprising was how much he knew about the Undersiders.

The Undersiders had only just gotten started: a few small-time jobs here and there, the Ruby had been their biggest hit yet. It meant to gather attention.

The fact that it had caught the attention of Lung so fast didn’t bode well; if you showed up at the Big Kids' table, you'd best be able to stay there.

“Bitch is something of a…” Tattletale paused. “Special… case. Not unlike Yūrei; both of them have needs that are outside the norm.”

_‘And glance up… there.’_

Tucked low to try and hide in the frame of a window, an amorphous blob watched with white pin-prick eyes. The base of its body extended to cover the entire reflective surface of the window, emerging out of it. It was hard to tell given the body was somehow both nearly transparent and had a color to match the surrounding frame, even if it was distorted, like a reflection.

While some of the buildings in the run-down areas of the Docks were all but abandoned and let to rot, many were in surprisingly good condition. The city had been quick to go through most to check for mold and decay after Tāwhiri passed through, though it was hard to check the areas that the Merchants controlled.

This, coupled with the attempted rebuild of industry, meant that the city had swaths of buildings that had been partially fixed up... which with the sharp increase of reflective surfaces made it far easier for Yūrei to get eyes on things.

Tattletale looked back to Lung, ignoring the projection. “Something that I’m sure you’re very aware of.”

What Lung thought of this, he gave no visible sign.

Tattletale couldn’t help but grin as she reined in her power once more; that was right Lung, she _did_ know things, _be_ wary.

This was a dangerous proposition, poking Lung like this, but…

“But the state and affairs of the Undersiders aren’t why we are here,” Tattletale continued, taking a few steps to the side to lean on the wall under the blob. It extended itself in response, stretching out in a curve to continue looking at her, its white dots for eyes never blinking.

“We are here to talk about something that would benefit us both.”

“Yes.” Lung clenched his hands into fists, then relaxed them as he growled out his next words.

“But I doubt that you would enjoy working as an underling.”

Tattletale chucked. “No, I would not, but in a roundabout way, that is one of the reasons I’m here. You won’t help me in that matter however, as you just don’t care, do you?”

The only reply from Lung was an angry huff, signaling to Tattletale that she was both correct and that he was starting to really lose patience.

Plus, the small spike of heat coming from the villain was a sign as well.

“So, I’m going to help you out with something,” Tattletale continued. “How would you like to be the only gang in the city with a say in the Dock Workers Association?”

Above her, the blob wavered, then shifted. It stretched and twisted until it had lowered down to her level. The unblinking eyes stared her down. Lung gave it a glance, before turning back to Tattletale.

“Impossible, Hebert works hard to keep capes and our actions out of the working Docks, I know this well. And given the state of the bay and area, as well as Hebert’s actions, it has no value to me.”

“That’s… not entirely true,” Tattletale replied. “Because you are thinking too small. It’s not so much as what the Docks can do for you, but what the Docks _could_ do for you.”

Lung snorted. “There is nothing there for me, just old buildings and a dying worker’s union. If I made this move, then others would attack, seeking to take what is not theirs, now from _me_.”

“But you are Lung, what do you have to fear from attacks?”

Blood shot eyes stared down the smaller villain. “I am _Lung_ ,” the man in question intoned, taking a step forward. “ _None_ can defeat me and _none_ dare to try. Even the Protectorate fears my strength.”

“But what of your gang?” asked Tattletale. “How many of them fear you?”

At this Lung let out a short bark of a laugh.

“They fear me as well,” he explained, as if talking to a child. “And if any think they can defeat me… then they are responsible for their own deaths.”

“So you rule through fear then?” Tattletale asked slowly, glancing up at Yūrei’s projection as she did so. The blob shifted at her gaze, before becoming still once more.

“Of course,” Lung replied. “The fear of _knowing_ , of _reality_. ‘If I fight him, I lose.’ They know me, and quiver to be in my presence. They know that I can hurt them, and they know will be the worst pain imaginable. This, my gang, the PRT, the other groups in the city, _know_. The best, most effective, kind of fear.”

“But do you have their loyalty?” Tattletale asked.

Lung paused, gazing at the other villain. To anyone else, it might have seemed impossible to read the man.

But Tattletale _cheated_.

Her words didn’t bother Lung, but they _did_ tickle at him.

Which was what she was going for.

“They are loyal, because I am strong,” Lung clarified. “ _I_ am the one that fights the Empire, the PRT, and the Merchants; I am the one that pulled the ABB together, from the scraps that it was. Without me, they would fall beneath the waves and be destroyed.”

“But would they risk for lives to save you?” Tattletale asked. “If you were defeated and caught by the PRT, would they break in to get you out? If you were injured and needed help, would they pull you into their homes and heal you?”

Tattletale cocked her head to the side, eyeing the blob that was staring her down. “I’m not so sure that they would. Oni Lee would, as would Yūrei. But all Lee _has_ is his loyalty to you, and Yūrei? She’s something of a different case, considering where she comes from.”

The area was quiet for a few moments, yet, there was a feeling pushing down on Tattletale. A heat, and a sense of _danger_.

Lung advanced on Tattletale, entering her personal space, blocking her path and almost pinning her against the wall by doing so. The heat from his body pricking against her exposed skin. Behind him, Yūreis projection shifted, an arm, more of a stub with little nubs for three fingers, emerging from its body, reaching out to grasp onto Lungs shoulder.

“I shall never fall, never _lose_ ,” he growled out. “Maybe I will get injured, maybe I do not emerge victorious, but the one fighting me shall lose, not _I_. And if my men believe they will survive this city without me, that they do not need me or that I will not find out that they have betrayed me, then I shall _correct_ them on this matter.”

The heat was a near physical thing in the small alley, and Tattletale was suddenly very happy that she had managed to get Coil to shell out for some good materials for the teams costumes; they weren’t Tinkertech, but they were slightly better than what most stores sold on their shelves.

She needed to be careful at this point, the only reason the Asian cape hadn’t attacked her yet was because he gave his word; and if nothing else, Lung was a man of his word.

This didn’t mean that she could poke the dragon without fear however, and Tattletale was quick to continue.

“Of course, you _are_ _Lung_ after all. But, I have a plan that could help you in regards to loyalty, and the best part? All you need to really do is keep doing what you’ve been doing, and maybe one or two other things,” added Tattletale. “Nothing more that you wouldn’t already be doing; taking territory, defending it, ordering your men around, that sort of thing.”

All at once, Lung huffed and turned away, walking back to the mouth of the alley as he spoke. “Then this meeting has no point, as you have said nothing about the information you _claim_ to have, and instead have made remarks on loyalty, a fading union, and of strength. All of which are things I know at present. We have no business here together.”

“Danny Hebert doesn’t want the DWA to fall apart,” Tattletale said swiftly. “But the workers need jobs, contracts. But with no-one offering contracts means no jobs, no jobs means the DWA falls apart.”

“This is simple logic,” Lung called over his shoulder. “Economics, if no one wishes to use them, then no one will hear of them, and then no one will use them. Goodbye Tat-”

“And if you gave them a contract?”

Lung paused at the waiting car, one had on the door handle, and Tattletale took that as a sign to continue.

“Hebert wants to do good by his men, yet he also is hard at work keeping them out of the gangs, god knows that the Empire must have made at least _some_ overtures to the man, yet he hasn’t taken the bait.”

“I have yet to hear a point to this.”

“The DWA has contractors, plumbers, truck drivers. Danny knows people at city hall, people that could use a popularity boost, and you have a gang that maybe might have a loyalty issue. I wonder,” Tattletale asked, crossing her arms and leaning back on the wall of the alley. “How is Chinatown faring structurally these days?”

The surface of the cars window rippled, and Yūreis projection pulled itself out of it. Its unblinking eyes looked at the female villain, before shifting to gaze at Lung.

The older villain huffed and stepped away from the car to face Tattletale once more.

“No more delays, speak,” he commanded.

Chinatown was a bit of a misnomer; it was more than just Chinese that were running it. That name had started to drop off in use over the years in favor of 'the Asian District,' which had its own negative connotations.

Lung seemingly didn’t care about cultural boundaries, as temples, shrines, restaurants, and shops were put up from all sorts of Asian cultures, with little to separate them. It also caused tensions to rise, as some refused to let their culture be affiliated with another's.

Most learned pretty quick that Lung didn’t like having divides in his camp; when fights broke out between Korean, Chinese, Japanese, or another ‘Asian’ ethnicity, the man tended to come down on both sides of the fight.

Hard.

There was a reason he was called, “The _Dragon,”_ after all.

Combined with the exodus of people from Japan after Leviathan sank most of it, as well as refugees from China and other Asian areas that were experiencing cape pressure, had combined to cause a surge of people to settle in America, looking for better lives.

But the thing was, America didn’t exactly have the golden future that so many wanted.

Gangs, culture clash, shifting politics, the decay of the city, this all meant that places like what people called Chinatown experienced the same slow collapse of the Docks. When all the blue-collar work changed to white-collar, not having a good American education was crippling, which further impacted low income areas.

Which in turn, meant that ‘Chinatown,’ was falling apart, something that Lung _had_ to have known.

“You have money, and Danny Hebert has workers in need of jobs. Hard, honest workers who need hard, honest jobs,” Tattletale explained. “And, you have a gang, that when the chips are down, might abandon you. Because while they might _fear_ you cause they know what you can and will do to them, it is a completely different type of fear to go running into a fight not knowing what is going to happen next. You might find that your men fear the unknown more than what they do know, not a good thing for a man that _rules_ through _fear_.”

“And you are suggesting that I can ‘fix’ this ‘problem,’ by improving my men’s lives?” Lung asked. Everything from his tone, to his body language screamed ‘doubt.’

“It won’t be that easy, I agree,” Tattletale continued. “Simply fixing up homes and adding new _legal_ business (under your purview of course) to the city won’t repair the economy overnight, nor will you likely make a good profit for a while, maybe even a few years. On the flip side however, doing this would make you so strong that the PRT would never even _think_ of attacking you again.”

“How would building homes, and opening shops- ones that I shall lose money on- ones that would take my men away from me, stop the PRT?” Lung asked.

Tattletale honesty couldn’t tell if the man was being deadpan, generally curious, or if he was just humoring her; with the current throbbing in her head, she had to get a tight hold on her power, less it go and practically knock her out.

Lucky, she didn’t need to do anything for the next part, as it was the other, as up to then silent, member of the conversation that spoke up.

“… The PRT is dependent on the citizens believing in their cause, that those they fight are villains, people that lie, steal, cheat, break laws, all with no accounting for their actions. But if you were to become more than just a sleeping dragon, slumbering in your cave, but a protector and defender of your people, the PRT would find themselves hard pressed to force you out, lest they need to endure the public backlash.”

Both of the villains gazed at Yūrei’s projection, which shrunk into itself (or more precisely, the car window), before continuing in a voice that, at best, could be considered sounding ‘underwater.’

“… I think it’s a good idea, but not without its flaws. Like… what the ABB needs to do to make this happen.”

“All you need to do, is catch the wave,” Tattletale supplied. “As I’m going to set things into motion. But if you did that, all you would get is the bare minimum. Though if you were to listen to me, and follow the path and path I have set…”

Lung was interested, Tattletale could tell. More power and strength? And all he needed to do was nothing new? He would be a fool not to be interested.

“.. this course of action,” Lung began slowly. “It has benefits, yet you haven’t given reasons on why _I_ should be the one to take this risk. For it is a _risk_. The other gangs will not stand for this, and while I can fight them, my reach is… limited.” Lung growled the last word out, as it was a fact known to all present.

Lung was but one cape, and while he had two others at his disposal, one was lacking in combat applications, while the others actions tended to be heavily frowned upon by the PRT and others, so there was only so much ground the ABB capes could cover. And if he started to work on improving the lives of those under him, the other gangs _would_ take notice.

Because there was a _balance_ in the Bay, and if Lung suddenly wasn’t worth removing from the city because of the damage he would cause if _removed_ , the PRT would shift focus. Add this to him making the lives of others _better_ , and suddenly he didn’t seem like such a bad guy, something that would be bad PR for people like the Empire (and mostly just them, as it couldn’t get really any worse for the Merchants). As despite their strength, if public opinion turned enough against them, then it was be far easier for the PRT to get rid of them.

‘Course, the other gangs won’t like this, and would work hard to stop it. The risk that Lung spoke of; the Empire had several capes they could use to disrupt things, and they could do so far easier and faster than Lung could respond.

But on the flipside, Lung had to have been smart enough to realize that his people would fight for their homes and livelihoods, even without him prompting them to. Especially if things where getting _better._

Which would mean more loyalty, and by extension, more _power,_ _respect_ and _fear_ , from his followers _and_ his foes.

“Why give _me_ this information?” Lung asked after a few moments (proving Tattletale right). “Why not use it to enhance your _own_ power in the city? To carve out a slice of your own, or under another to rise to power from within? Why me and not the Empire? Why a secret meeting for something like this? A business plan?”

“… unless,” Lung continued. “There is something more. You have knowledge, and claim to have power to act upon this plan, yet are an unknown to me. But you have your own group, one that has slowly and carefully climbed up from the mud.”

“… you have an employer.”

Tattletale did her best not to flinch; she hadn't thought Lung an idiot, but she hadn’t accounted for this.

“Groups like yours don’t start like you do, _without_ backing,” Lung finished. “Yet… why would you care about my followers? Your actions here suggest something of betrayal; to _me?_ Or _them?_ ”

“Being nice? Rewarding those that have struggled to survive in this hellhole of a city like me? The fact that I am not a god damn _Nazi?_ ” Tattletale asked sharply. “I have several reasons actually; some, are _none of your_ _business_.”

Lung huffed; at least, Tattletale would call it a huff, it was likely more of a laugh.

“But in the end,” Tattletale continued as if she hadn’t just snapped at one of the most power capes in the city and he had let her by virtue of her being no real threat to him. “This plan will benefit you in the long run. So, the better question would be, why _not_ go with it?”

“Plus, your patron would be happy with you helping your people out.”

Yūrei rippled, yet Lung was unmoved, uncaring. It was nothing more than an inconvenience to him, as his patron was strong enough for him not to care if anyone knew about them. He respected them.

It was one of the reasons that Coil was tiptoeing around the ABB, he had likely figured that he could weed them out in the long run, and use them in the short. As if Lung patron took offence… Coil would not last long in the Bay.

So, Tattletale waited; it was a bit of a contest really. Lung would hold his ground, make her sit and stew, likely waiting for her to give up more than she already had. A simple tactic, one that Tattletale knew would work given enough time.

“… What is this plan of yours?” Lung asked (Tattletale tried not to cheer).

“Simple; make an offer to Danny Hebert about contact for some workers. Then, start to build up your territory to improve it economically; you know, get some contractors trained on your end, fix up some buildings, get some restaurants opened up, that kind of thing. As that happens, make sure that they- and by they I mean _everyone_ \- knows that you’re the one behind it. Not the Empire, and certainly not the Merchants, but _you_.”

Behind his mask, Lungs eyes narrowed. “You had said that there was nothing I needed to do to profit from this plan, yet _I_ must be the one to approach Hebert? Are there further lies? Or is this plan of yours a farce?”

Tattletale shrugged, unmoved by Lungs simple jab. “It would work better if _you_ went to _him_. True, I had a plan to make him go to you if you didn’t take my offer, but this way will have more of an impact.”

“’Course you would have to keep everything on the level with Hebert, if you tried to drag him into the ABB in any shape or form, you might find yourself getting arrested for tax evasion. Wouldn’t _that_ be a way to get taken out as The Dragon?”

“It would be remarkable,” Lung deadpanned. “Yet, this action, what services would I lose from it? Hebert is a man of his word as well, and his actions precede him. ‘No gangs in the DWA,’ yet you believe that he would work for me?”

“Not for him, but _together_ ,” Tattletale clarified. “Compared to the other gangs, unless the city or government steps in, you’re practically the best bet for saving the Docks, the ferry, and the DWA. Things like downscaling the drug and gun trade can happen later, when you start to make moves like Accord up in Boston and switch over to the more legal side of things, mostly that is. Some things like the Farms will hav-

“ _What did you just say!?_ ”

The whip crack of Lungs half-shout caused Tattletale to take a step back from its intensity. Behind his mask, Lungs eyes _burned_ , and his skin seemed to _shift_ under his clothes as he took a single step forward.

_Lung upset, confused, angry. Using anger as a shield. Had orders in place, doesn’t involve himself in day-to-day operations. Didn’t know his orders weren’t being followed. Hates the concept of the Farm; didn’t know they were still active. Someone working behind his back; the possibly of several people dying via Lung has increased._

“I, uh…” Tattletale struggled for a moment, trying to get her feet under her after the sudden shift in tempo.

A moment that Lung wasn’t going to give her, as in a single power-enhanced step, he moved forward and wrapped his hand around her neck.

“Repeat. Your. _Words_.” Lung growled out, and through the heat and pressure on her throat, Tattletale did just that.

“The Farms are still operational,” Tattletale said rapidly. “Don’t know where. The PRT and the BBPD are working to get them shut down. They think you are behind it, so they try and stay hidden to avoid getting you on their case.”

Lung stared at Tattletale for several moments, then released her, causing the younger villain to take several deep breaths as she staggered back.

“You will help me locate them,” the gang leader said swiftly as he turned away from her. “And I will consider your offer of this _plan_.”

“Right,” Tattletale said stiffly while she rubbed at her throat. Even without looking, she knew that it would be red then peel in a few days, to say nothing of the bruise.

_‘Oh joy, turtlenecks or heavy makeup for the foreseeable future.’_

“I need to get my equipment, start going through data,” she continued with a cough; because of _course_ she was going to agree with the angry dragon, especially if it just so happen to help her out, and help get rid of places like the Farms.

“Contact me with some more information, and I can pin them down faster.”

Lung grunted as he got into the car. As it began to drive off however, Yūrei stretched out her projection, keeping it close to Tattletale.

“Apologizes,” she began with the underwater-sounding voice. “But thank you for your help. I hope he didn’t hurt you too much."

And with that, the glass projection snapped back to the moving car, which soon turned a corner and vanished from view.

 _‘… well, that didn’t quite go to plan,’_ reflected Tattletale, but she could work with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I based Lung more off the version of him from the Fanfic Constellations. In that one he’s still… Lung, but he shows more of his intelligent and practical side, something we don’t see enough of in Canon, as while he is very much a thug, he at least thinks things through and has his own ‘code’ to follow (which means that he’s better than Skidmark, which isn’t exactly a high bar).   
> His stems from his time spent with Kuzunoha; he still be angry ‘all will become Asian’ Dragon boy, but this one wears a shirt and will offer you a refreshment before saying you did something wrong and tossing you to the other side of the room.  
> Also pardon my Google Translate, here’s what I put though it to get what I got:  
> *Greetings Lung, thank you for meeting me.  
> *I requested this meeting because I- [Gets cut off]


	22. 3.2 Firewalker

_March 31 st_

_It wasn’t until I recognized that we were only a few blocks from my neighborhood that I spoke._

_“Alexandria, she…”_

_Armsmaster spared me the tiniest of glances, but otherwise let me gather my thoughts._

_A minute passed in silence, before I started again._

_“… why was she like that?” I asked. “I mean… it wasn’t just me, was it?”_

_The hero was quiet for a moment, before he sighed._

_“I have been wondering that myself,” he admitted. “Her reaction to your power was… extreme, and I will be having words to Piggot about it. Hopefully she will pass my report up the chain of command quickly and the Chief Director will hear about what happened here.”_

_Armsmaster removed one hand from the wheel and drew it across his damaged chest piece, feeling the hand-shaped dent in it out._

_“… that was_ not _the actions of a proper Protectorate member, especially for the leader of the organization.”_

_I had to look away at that; most of what I’d experienced with the PRT or Protectorate wasn’t what I’d expected either._

_“… what happens now?”_

_Armsmaster grunted. “You go home and go to school, act like nothing has happened; I’ll ask Dragon to contact you if anything new happens, as well as with the basic report from the testing. I, meanwhile, will push for an investigation into Alexandria.”_

_“… it was almost like she had seen my power before,” I noted absently._

_“Impossible, you are not the Butcher, nor have I heard of a power similar to the ones that you'd used in case you were a powers thief.”_

_I didn’t know what to say to that, I didn’t really know much about powers either after all._

_“… will you… will you get in trouble for what you did?” I managed to ask._

_Armsmaster didn’t respond._

* * *

_March 23 st_

“Door.”

A single rectangle of light soundlessly manifested in front of Alexandria. On the other side, a white hallway, with white floor tiles and a glass ceiling of fluorescent lights.

Floating at nearly two-thousand feet, the female hero passed through the portal, seamlessly going from flying, to walking.

The Door shut behind her, only detectable by the shifting of air currents brought up by the different pressures.

Alexandria honestly hated the white-on-white, as it was _too_ well done, and reminded her far too much of her time in the hospital, years ago. Plus, even with her power enhanced memory helping, it always took her a few seconds to figure out where _exactly_ she was in the compound.

Which was an undertaking of itself for most, considering that the whole ‘building’ was spread across several different locations, a few even being on other worlds.

Still, the limited signs (A set of dashes there, the placement of where a door card would go there, a few scuffs on the floor and door handles) were usually enough to orient her to the point that she could go where she intended.

The fact that Doormaker only ever dropped her off in one building, unless specified, helped as well.

She passed six nearly identical doors until she got to the one that she needed.

Inside, Contessa waited, as well as Doctor Mother, Legend and the Number Man.

Like the halls, the room was very minimalist: white walls and tiles, offset by the table with chairs in the middle, a set of cabinets and shelves on one wall, as well as the rolling whiteboard set aside. The far side of the room held an array of TV screens to simulate windows. Currently, they were showing a beach with a crystal-clear ocean further on.

Contessa was standing beside the Doctor, who was seated at the single table that the room held, a clipboard in her hands. The Number Man was in a similar situation, only with a small stack of papers in front of him.

Legend was at the far end, alone, hands clasped together on the table and mask off. A purely symbolic gesture, as the man disliked having Cauldron attached to his hero persona.

“Eidolon is busy,” Alexandra said aloud as she moved to a seat and took her helmet off. For her, it was more of a matter of not being the only one wearing a mask; there was no reason to stand out.

“He is dealing with a Protectorate situation.”

The Doctor nodded and set down her clipboard. “Very well, then we can begin. Contessa?”

The suited cape spared no time in getting to the point. “There is a new Deviant.”

Deviants, publically known as Case 53s, were amnesiac parahumans, and usually had severe physical alterations borne from their powers. In truth, they were Cauldron experiments, either forced to receive powers, or had taken a powers vial that had failed (a rare case to be sure).

Legend knew nothing about Cauldron's involvement in Case 53s, as most of the group feared that he wouldn’t understand the necessity of them. Yet to have Contessa bring one up piqued Alexandria’s interest.

“It has caused interference on my Paths.”

Alexandria narrowed her eyes at Contessa. “Explain.”

“Coil was late for our meeting.”

Legend raised an eyebrow. “… that’s… unusual?”

Alexandria found herself understanding Legends confusion. Despite the man's power, Coil himself was human, and prone to everything that entailed, so being late to a meeting was hardly cause for concern.

“And what does Coil have to do with the interference?” Alexandria asked.

“You have misunderstood,” Contessa stared. “The Path showed me when to arrive at his office, to discuss the Winslow Event and its Precog-affecting aftermath with him while he was there. He was _late._ ”

 _That_ was cause for concern. 'Deviant' was also the term given to capes or situations that either interfered with Contessa's Path to Victory, or shifted Cauldron's plans. The most common were the Endbringers showing up, or Trigger Events. The amount of these cases were small, but each one had the potential to derail their plans; as such each one had to be carefully managed, lest another Grey Boy situation happen.

This meant that it was a natural Trigger that caused it, something that was harder to control.

There was a reason that some people like the Sleeper was still around and running free after all.

“ _Explain,_ ” demanded Alexandria.

“Traffic,” started Contessa. “A side effect of the arboriform. Vehicles being diverted around the quarantined area and children having to change schools has altered the paths of drivers in the city. This led to an accident, which in turn delayed Coil from getting to his base on time in accords with my power. Furthermore, my path auto-corrected itself upon arrival, instructing me to wait for Coil, then continuing with most the rest of the ‘old’ path. I discovered the source upon an investigation of what had happened by using my power to investigate the arboriform, as well as information provided by Coil, as he was experiencing problems with his power as well. However, it was not the tree itself that had affected us, but the parahuman responsible.”

Most would view Contessa's power to be infallible, and ninety percent of the time, it was. It was the other ten percent that _really_ caused problems.

Trigger Events were never _fully_ able to be Pathed, and in those cases, it was the Number Man that proved better suited to discovering what powers would emerge from a vial.

Through Contessa's power was helpful in regards to _causing_ Trigger Events, that didn’t mean that the Path was able to fully explain and predict the particulars of the powers that would emerge.

In these cases, Contessa’s power would adjust within a second to deal with the power, even if (as in one case) it was to simply provide the instruction to _run_.

Which was why whenever a case like this happened, Cauldron needed to deal with it. If they lost Contessa’s Path to Victory…

“… this could be either a problem, or a boon,” Doctor Mother said after a moment. “A power capable of disrupting Contessa’s could prove useful in the final battle; the issue is her age and events behind her Trigger, as well as her link to Kuzunoha, through her mother.”

“Wait, she has links to _Kuzunoha?_ ” Legend asks. “Who is she?”

“I have a report here,” The Number Man supplied, holding up the stack of papers for the passing Contessa to take. “Compiled from the PRT report, as well as from mine and Contessa's investigations.”

“Her name is Taylor Hebert, age fifteen,” Doctor Mother stated as Contessa gave the sheets to the two heroes. “While she has managed to avoid getting pulled into the Wards program due to the difficulties surrounding her Trigger Event, this newly added information could easily change that.”

“Difficulties?!” Legend exclaimed as he read over the document. “It was a _Ward_ that caused this girl to Trigger in the first place!”

“Which is exactly why it was covered up,” Alexandria responded calmly as she burned through the report. It wasn’t that interesting; a dead mother, a blue-collared working father, Triggered after a combination of extended bullying from her former best friend reaching a singular tipping point and likely having little support at home due to her father still being emotionally absent from his wife’s death.

It was entirely within the Trigger bounds, and Alexandria had seen worse.

“If the world knew that the PRT had someone like Shadow Stalker within the ranks and that she had caused this Trigger to happen, then the amount of bad PR that would generate would not be good for us. It would cause questions to be asked about any more 'bad eggs' within the agency. Perhaps it would even cause some of our capes to be looked at more closely.”

Legend looked ready to argue, but Alexandria cut him off to avoid the morality of the issue.

“The fact is that the situation has already happened, and it seems Piggot is making amends to Taylor while playing the long game of recruitment. A sound strategy, considering both the state of her city, and the profile complied by the PRT on Taylor’s personality. What has happened, has _happened_ , and this oversight will not happen again, as Piggot has taken steps to prevent it.”

Legend didn’t seem happy about it, but he conceded the point.

“We should at least look into other situations, set up better protocols over this type of thing.” The man shook his head. “This shouldn’t have happened inside the Wards program in the first place.”

“Agreed,” conceded Alexandria. “While it was the byproduct of several mistakes overlapping each other, such a thing could also be replicated by the other powered divisions; Accord _was_ once Watchdog after all. The Guild should be fine, they vet their members well, Sentinel might have a few issues within them, but it’s the Protectorate that takes in most of the switch-overs.”

“I’ll start setting things up on the PRT side of things, but for now let’s get back to Taylor Hebert,” Alexandria continued. “I’m more interested in her power, as well as her supposed link to Kuzunoha; does she know about this?”

“We don’t currently know where Kuzunoha is,” supplied The Number Man. “But with the Clairvoyant we can find her easily, but the numbers do not suggest that she knows. However, the link likely originates with Taylor's mother, most possibly due to with her former Lustrum ties. I used a few of our contacts within the Order, it seems that Kuzunoha passed through Brockton Bay years ago, during which she came into contact with some of Lustrum’s followers. The woman that would end up becoming Annette Hebert was there, they met and hit it off and they stayed in contact over the years via mail. Apparently, Annette even sent baby pictures to Kuzunoha of Taylor.”

“… Do we know if Taylor herself is aware of this?”

“No, but given the PRT’s investigation and monitoring of the Heberts, there is an eighty-four percent chance that she never told either her husband or daughter. This may have been to protect them both, as well as keep the life of a cape out of their own, particularly from someone like Kuzunoha. With Annette's death, that cord has been cut, and there is no sign that Kuzunoha knows what happened.”

“Small blessings.” Legend mummers. “They’re still talking about what she did to Heartbreaker, and Kuzunoha didn’t have personal reasons to go after him. If she found out that the daughter of one of her ‘friends’ was attacked like this…”

_Then the Bay would be in flames._

It was only slightly an exaggeration, as Kuzunoha wasn’t the type to burn a _entire_ city down to get payback, but the fact that she seemed unaware of what had transpired to her friend’s daughter was a blessing.

“What of her power?” Alexandria asked after a moment. “Do we have a grasp on how it affects yours, Contessa?”

“The closest that I can ascertain, is that she semi-unpathable,” Contessa explained. “As an experiment, I pathed my way into an interaction with her. I followed the path to a bus stop and waited. Taylor came jogging by and I engaged her in a conversation about the time and bus routes. We both followed the Path, up until she _didn’t_ , by asking _me_ questions, and while my path corrected to account for this, she did it _several times.”_

“The closest that we have ever observed that happening is when someone Triggers,” Doctor Mother explained. “However, those are singular cases, and her power usually provides a hint as to what power will be formed beforehand as part of the path.”

“Suffice to say, we’ve yet to properly figure out how powers generate in what patterns as they do,” supplied the Number Man. “The best that I can do is provide the odds for a particular formula. _How_ the power manifests as a Blaster… that is unknown, even to me.”

“Yet unless Taylor was Triggering multiple times,” Legend added. “Then she has an anti-Precog effect only outmatched by Scion and the Endbringers.”

Scion and the Endbringers, both the major threats that Cauldron was formed to eliminate. Alexandria knew that much of Cauldrons work was done to take steps towards stopping the Endbringers, as well as Scion, the source of all powers. They also worked hard to stabilize the world as powers became distressingly more common. Coil, and his plan to take over Brockton Bay, was one such necessary plan.

“… while this is interesting, how is it a concern?” asked Alexandria after a moment. “We are hands-off on Brockton Bay because of Coil’s experiment. While Taylor's power should be watched, and if possible, held on to for the final battle, how does it affect _now?_ Why was this meeting called?”

“This was not the first time that my path has been altered,” Contessa supplied to the shock of the others. “Since Taylor Triggered, there have been multiple times that my Paths have auto-corrected, all occurring on the East Coast. First, I believed that they were simply the ripple effects of new Triggers reaching me; however, such an event has never happened before in such a short time span. Furthermore, when Coil contacted us about his powers encountering problems, I attempted to find the cause, as his power can be useful at a later date.”

“But it was not until I Doored to Brockton Bay to discuss things with Coil that I realized the extent of the issue. For when I walked through a Door to Coil's base, I did not find him sitting at his chair as my Path said he would be, instead, I encountered him walking into his office a few minutes later. From there, I backtracked to find the source based on the info provided, Pathed to Taylor, encountered her, had the Path altered, and then performed similar experiments within the city. On several occasions, my Paths corrected themselves even while walking through downtown.”

Contessa possessed the Path to Victory Agent; a (near) perfect Precog, capable of preforming (nearly) any task by showing her the ‘steps’ she needed to take. One of the most powerful assets Cauldron had at their disposal.

To hear that it was encountering ‘errors’ was disturbing for everyone in the room.

“Are we sure that it is Taylor?” Legend asks. “Because we _all_ know that even the Path to Victory doesn’t always provide the _perfect_ answers.”

“I do not encounter the same effects that Contessa does,” supplied the Number Man. “But, as a second experiment at the Doctor’s request, I too walked through Brockton Bay. What I did encounter was a higher-than-average chance of statistically unlikely events. Events that had under a forty percent chance of happening, happened far more often than providence would normally dictate, as though a normal distribution curve were being bent into a straight line.”

“So, we’re not fully sure that it _is_ Taylor?”

“She _is_ the only possible link,” Doctor Mother explained. “Furthermore, other Precogs that have viewed the Winslow Event, or even Taylor Hebert herself, have had difficulty with their predictions being… accurate. There is also scattered reports of … of them talking to themselves.”

“… talking to themselves?” Legend asks.

It was Alexandria that supplied the answer, memorized from the document provided in moments.

“There were several reports of people encountering a doppelganger while under the influence of the arboriform. It was one of the leading reasons that many were committed to a rapidly constructed PRT clinic on the outskirts of the city.”

“And this is also affecting our thinkers?”

“The data set is small, but a handful of Precog capes have stepped forward citing a request for Master/Stranger protocols after using their powers in the vicinity of Brockton Bay,” supplied the Number Man.

“A M/S power that works _through_ Precogs? That’s the same as Mama Mathers,” Legend says softly before tapping a pair on fingers onto the table to gather attention. “That is something you should have started with, because that has the potential to become a problem for every Precog and Thinker out there. Why didn’t you start with it?”

“There is a ninety-six-point seven percent chance that Contessa Pathed this conversation this way,” the Number Man supplied. “Likely to provide background information, to make sure that we are paying attention, as well as to provide all the information in a manner that delivers it quickly.”

“It is also a high possibility that even this part of the conversation was Pathed for the best impact,” finished the Number Man. At this Legend paused in opening his mouth, then closed it swiftly.

Legend hadn’t been (almost) fully brought into Cauldron until a few years ago. Mostly because the group feared that ultimately, he would not be willing to stomach or understand the entirety of what Cauldron needed to do.

The events of Tāwhirimātea forced the group to expose more to the man, including things like Contessa and what she could do.

Still, Alexandria reflected, it was hard for him, as he really did just care too much, and often had a hard time convicting himself that the path that they were on was for the benefit for _all_.

“This is not the first time this has occurred either,” Contessa added.

Legends brow furrowed. “ _When?_ Because I’m pretty sure I would remember if all of our Precogs started messing up on a grand scale.”

“The scale is larger,” Doctor Mother interrupted. “But there have been several cases of capes that are capable of negating some Precogs to this degree, even to Contessa. Specter, Paladin, Charger, to name a few.”

Specter… Alexandria knew that name. Limited flight, Tinker-tech weapons, combat specialist, capable of deploying a decoy and going invisible, had an area of effect flashbang, could open a portal from which pure plasma and high levels of radiation _poured_ out of in a beam.

Not to mention…

It took a moment for the hero to realize that everyone was staring at her, likely because she had crumpled her armrests in her grip.

“We haven’t seen one of the Clan in _years_ ,” Alexandria said as a way to divert attention from her lapse. “And we tasked Dragon to keep an eye out for them.”

“Not that she’s had much luck,” Doctor Mother pointed out. “Same as us, the Clans have always been very good at staying hidden, even during their more public movements. However, that being said, it is unlikely that Taylor has any links to the organization, as the only time any of the Clan showed up in Brockton Bay was when Specter stepped in after New Wave lost Fleur.”

“The next closest was during the Boston Games, Yokujin,” Alexandria continued. “Accord was _not_ happy with an invisible archer going around and targeting capes.”

“All the more reason to investigate this new parahuman,” Doctor Mother concluded. “We first believed that it was only Scion and the Endbringers that were immune to Contessa's power, however, we’ve encountered far too many instances to the contrary to assume that they are isolated cases. Taylor’s power should be studied.”

“Piggot has plans to begin a round of power testing after the girl has spent more time at Arcadia and has been befriended by at least a few of the Wards there,” Alexandria remarked. “She has hopes that she will join the Wards afterwards given the presence of friendly faces. I’ll bring up some of the PRT Precogs having issues to Piggot, get her to accelerate that timetable.”

“Seems underhanded,” Legend added. “From the report, Taylor hasn’t fully recovered from her trauma, if we push her then she might walk out. If that happens, we might have to use legal actions against a fifteen-year-old girl.”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” Alexandria countered. “For now, the issue of the Path to Victory takes priority.”

The hero lifted her hand up, ghosting it along a point just under her breast…

“… Whether or not Taylor is actively causing this is not the issue, the fact is that we simply don’t know anything about her power; it _might_ be similar to the Clan’s anti-Precog powers, or it might not, the only way to know is through testing.”

“And she _will_ come in for testing…”

… Right were Specter's blade sank into her body during their fight.

“… even if I have to bring her in myself.”

* * *

As Contessa walked away from the meeting, seeking food - _Step: seventy-six for the day_ – before heading out to deal with a few things as directed by Doctor Mother, the cape reflected on Legend’s words.

Her power was… powerful, but it had its flaws.

For one, no amount of steps allowed her to kill someone like Legend or Alexandria for example, _without_ the use of another cape or Tinker-Tech.

Even with it helping her body along in a fight, there was no way to defeat someone like Crawler, unless she used the same methods as with the two heroes.

And her power was not _perfect_ , she learned to always view the steps before committing to a path after she got what would have been the fifth member of what would eventually end up becoming the Triumvirate killed.

While the recruitment went flawlessly, she had been following the paths mindlessly, unaware that she was still _human_. Because during the trip to a safe Door opening location, the man’s old enemies took notice of her, an unknown woman talking to him. And while her power protected her by placing her in the _exact_ _spots_ to avoid the bullets, she had failed to specify that _both_ of them needed to arrive _alive._

The result was the man known the world over as the Baga Yaga was killed, and Contessa learned that even with her power, one could make mistakes.

In the end, _she_ was still _human_ , her power was not.

Figuring that out took a few tries, as she couldn’t just chain paths together; sure, she could take out the Sleeper, but not help the PRT defeat the Slaughterhouse Nine at the same time, not without adding hundreds of steps (she’d tested this before) and requiring more _time_.

Which in turn could add more steps to a Path, if she found herself not agreeing with how it took things (or if the others did at least).

Asking several questions, then working off of that was the best way to move forward. Still, a missed or wrong question would spell disaster.

_“Ahh, is the little Farmer Girl being introspective? Can you even do that without using that power?”_

Contessa paused mid-step, her Path altering to account for her stopping...

To view _herself_ standing before her, all _smiles_ and black glowing eyes.

_‘How do I defeat the opponent before me.’_

The cape blinked as her power… gave her the steps to destroy _the Custodian?_ As far as she was aware, the Custodian wasn’t able to mimic others in any capacity.

_“Can you even live without your power? I mean-“_

_‘Steps to defeating my doppelganger.’_

_“It’s dug in so deep, that you can’t even eat without it.”_

Two thousand, four hundred and three steps, of which she cloned herself, then killed the clone.

 _“Hmmm, you’re too easy, and therefore, no _ fun _.”_

There was a flash of dark light/mist, and…

_‘How do I find the teleporter that was just here.’_

… the figure was gone.

_‘How do I detect the Stranger that was in this hallway.’_

…

…

…

…

…

_‘S-steps to stop panicking.’_

Seven, a room, a shower with the heat set to high, and tears.

_“But will that solve the underlining problem, Farmer Girl?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Crew, Cause and Effect is in play, or... is it... Effect and Cause? 
> 
> An... absence has reached out, detected, perceived, then... withdrew. 
> 
> … Irrelevant, back to work Tenno, YOU have a job to do.
> 
> In other words, I would be playing Empyrean right now, if it wasn’t for the fact that I seem to experience an out-of-Warframe experience whenever I interact with the Railjack as part of the crew.
> 
> Ah well, an bug fix update should happen soon enough, for now, an update here.


	23. 3.3 Firewalker

_April 13 th_

_“She can be so… ugh!”_

_Amy continued to stomp down the street, dragging me along with a hand still clasped in mine despite me trying to free myself._

_She was deceptively strong._

_“Treating you like a criminal when you haven’t done anything wrong! I mean really!”_

_“Amy,” I said with a tug on her arm. “Stop, it’s alright.”_

_Amy whirled on me, releasing my hand as she did so._

_“How can you say that!?!” she screeched. “You were shot at and nearly killed! It was self-defense! Even the PRT agreed!”_

_I frowned. While true, there was a hell of a lot more going on as well, like the fact that I wasn’t even supposed to be there in the first place._

_And I was really surprised that I was taking it all so well, considering that I’-_

_“It still happened Amy,” I defended while blocking it all out. “She just… had the particulars wrong.”_

_Amy huffed. “Sure, and Conscript is a mercenary.”_

_Again, particulars. I sensed that Amy was acting out on something more than what she was talking about._

_Still, it must have bothered her greatly, she’d dragged me several blocks away from the PRT building by this point._

_“We really shouldn’t have left like that,” I noted to Amy. “The PRT still had questions and that guy had to have been working for Coil. We can’t just leave after everything that happened.”_

_Speaking of which, how the hell did we just walk out of the building so easy? Wasn’t it on lockdown? I mean, one of their troopers had just tried to kill a prisoner while another that was being questioned wandered into a restricted area; how could we just walk out?_

_Why did no one stop us?_

_Miss Militia maybe? She had been trying to get me out of the building in the first place after all…_

_Amy paused for a moment, thinking._

_“Coil, isn’t he just a small-time villain?” she asks. “Must not be so small time if he can get a mole into the PRT.”_

_“He must be,” I evaded. She didn’t need to know that Coil was gunning for me, nor what I knew about what had happened._

_Amy eyed me for a moment, her mouth opening as if to say something._

_Before sighing and asking, “… do you want to walk back or take the bus?”_

_I didn’t know the bus routes in the area, and while we couldn’t see the PRT building anymore, at least Amy had taken us in a more or less straight line towards the mountains._

_… I wasn’t that weak, was I? She had dragged me several blocks after all._

_Maybe it was from living with Vicky._

_“Let's just walk back,” I reply. “It isn’t that far.”_

_Amy nodded but didn’t take her eyes off of me._

_“… what happened back there?” she asks, eyes swirling with curiosity. “The way that thin-“_

_One second we were alone in the fading sunlight of a downtown side street, the next there was a man with a black bodysuit and bandoleer standing in-between us. The demonic mask with fangs, horns and a leering ear-to-ear grin telling us exactly who it was._

_“Your presence is requested,” spoke Oni Lee. His tone suggested that it_ wasn’t _a request._

* * *

_March 23 rd_

Heading back to Arcadia meant falling back into a routine. A blessing considering the last few days.

After Lisa had left, I was stuck on what to do. Did I tell dad about her and the info she’d imparted? The PRT? Dragon?

In the end, I found that I couldn’t. If the bombshell that Lisa has dropped on me was even half true, then I couldn’t trust the PRT. As for dad…

I _wanted_ to tell him, I really did. After the last two years of keeping secrets and dealing with things on my own, then getting released from it all… I didn’t want to go back to that.

Yet… I didn’t tell him about it when he came home that day.

Out of fear? Maybe. Knowing my dad, he would want to get involved in protecting me, which could mean an increase of Parental Hovering (something I’d only experienced after the Locker). Plus he might want to go to someone at the PRT or police to report it.

Both of which could result in us getting killed.

And Dragon? I could call her, I even thought about it. But I ended up getting a message _from_ her, telling me to stay calm and that she was looking into things.

Evidently, my new ‘gift’ had a set of trackers in it, and a program keyed to listen to certain words and places, just in case something like this happened.

Sure, having it made up for the fact I had bugs in my house (the electronic ones, not the skittering ones) something that I kinda figured would happen. I did basically blow up a school after all, but there was a difference between figuring that you were being watched and _knowing_ that you were.

I _knew_ that the PRT was going to keep an eye on me just in case I ended up killing someone (why wouldn’t they?), but finding out for a fact still stung.

Dragon had tried apologizing for all of it, and while the betrayal had hurt, the fact that I wasn’t alone in this whole Coil business helped smooth things over.

Somewhat.

Still, I promised I would keep the phone on me and had asked what to do next.

What I learned was disappointing.

Turns out, real life isn’t like the movies; the heroes don’t find the exact information they need, and the next thing that happens is they are busting door the villain’s door, stopping them at _just_ the right moment.

Dragon had no idea _who_ Lisa was, and if Coil was really that deeply embedded into the PRT, then finding who to trust to dig him out was paramount. And it hurt to hear her say that I should go along with what Lisa had said, that I should just act normal.

I had almost stopped texting Dragon after that. Sure, it made sense, as if I suddenly vanished into the PRT just after what happened, a few flags would be raised. Flags that could cause Coil to vanish, likely taking anything and everything he had with him.

And quite possibly killing Lisa at the same time.

Hate… was a strong word for what I felt for Lisa after what she did, as she had pulled me into this mess with Coil, but I didn’t want her _dead_ over it. Plus, it sounded like I was already pulled in, I just wasn’t aware of it yet.

Still, the thought of sitting around and waiting for stuff to happen made me antsy.

People like Coil, the ones that didn’t hesitate in killing, they were the ones that the PRT and the police always warned people about.

And I was somehow messing with him.

The fact that me and my father hadn’t been killed yet was surprising, yet…

Killing me out of the blue wasn’t the mark of a patient man, and what little Lisa had shared pointed towards Coil being _very_ patient.

Which had its own problems: that didn’t mean that he didn’t have someone waiting for a phone call, just to end my life (another reason that I wasn’t being shuffled into PRT protection right now).

It was amazing how your whole perspective of life changed when it was on the line. Maybe that was why I was keeping this from dad, I didn’t want him to end up like me, constantly looking around, checking for that one random face of my killer, while trying _so_ _hard_ to be _normal_.

… perhaps I was exaggerating, as Coil did send Lisa to talk to me about recruitment. Maybe killing me off was the thing he would do _last_.

… that wasn’t a better thought considering the circumstances _now_.

But at school, I could fall into the flow of life there; classes, homework, lunch, that kind of thing. _Normal_ things. It was something I was used to, for better or worse, Winslow had taught me many things about how to get by day by day.

If only the students were more accommodating to my hidden plight.

_[hr] [/hr]_

“… I’m sorry?”

Dennis, who was leaning to the side to make eye contact through the gap between the computers, shrugged.

“I just noticed that you were eating alone the other day, and wanted to know if you wanted to sit with my friends and me.”

 _This,_ was unexpected. I had only been going to Arcadia for a few (short) weeks now, and I was careful to keep my distance from everyone on account of the shifting tides of students seeking new friends and losing old ones (there even had been a few fights that had broken out, likely formed or started by students from Winslow).

“I know that it sounds strange,” Dennis continued. “But… well, Arcadia lets some of the kids leave campus for lunch, if you’re doing good in classes that is, and I spotted you by yourself as we were leaving through the lot. And it got me thinking… all I see you do is come to class and leave. Sure, you say hi to me, but only after _I_ say it. I don’t really know what Winslow was like, but… Arcadia isn’t like that. Current bit of chaos not included.”

… he was right, I _was_ ghosting through my classes.

I was… content, with this, to ease back into a social life on my own terms. I had no intention of repeating the few times that someone back in Winslow had done more than just talk to me in class. It was familiar, safe, and it was _r_ _o_ _utine_.

The bombshell that Lisa had dropped in my living room just made keeping my distance easier. I doubted Coil had students under his employ, but I also didn’t want anyone else getting caught up in my life with him around.

Yet…

It would be nice, to hang out with other people, despite the fear I felt. I couldn’t just hang out with dad my entire life after all.

Plus, and this was some wishful thinking, what if I managed to get away from Coil? Would I still act this way? Or would I then start to move on?

The PRT was onto him now, and despite what ad happened to me, they couldn’t have lasted this long as an organization while being incompetent.

… right?

But that could be _weeks_ , if not _months,_ and Dennis… he seemed like a nice guy. Helpful and kind the few times I’d talked to him, and he wasn’t an idiot or anything.

We hadn’t really interacted all _that_ much, though he often would say ‘hi’ and ask me how I was doing just before class was starting. He also was helpful in telling me how to get into some settings and where to find things on the school’s site, as well as the best way to get into the few web sites that we needed for the schoolwork and tests.

I learned a few bits about him in that time, like how he was good at typing, but hated working with formulas. He also apparently made a mean PowerPoint presentation.

So, solely based upon that, Dennis was an OK guy. I just didn’t know if he was the type that I would be able to get along with, nor did I know if his friends were good people as well.

At the same time…

_‘You will have to move on at some point, to take the steps to move past the fear.’_

“I… maybe,” I glanced up at Dennis. “I’ll… I’ll think about it.”

Dennis smiled. “Great! We, uh, we sit by the back corner, near the double doors that lead outside. It’s only the five of us most of the time; not everyone can handle Vicky, so we should be easy to spot.”

“OK.” Not everyone can handle Vicky? Who was Vicky? What was I getting myself into? Those words alone were making me reconsider.

Dennis nodded. “All right, I’ll uh…” he trailed off, stopping to think.

“… I was going to say, see you then, but… we’re in the middle of class right now, sitting across from each other… _so…_ ”

A bit of a smile threatened to break out on my face, as Dennis _slowly_ leaned away with a short wave, eyes darting around, before partially disappearing back behind his computer, as I could still see his shoulder.

… I was worried. It had been so long since I’d had anything resembling, ‘friends,’ that the closest thing I’d think of were the kids that sat next to me in class, sometimes asking me a question, or working together on a project.

So… this whole thing was just… I didn’t want to be alone.

That was the truth of the matter, even with the specter of Coil, my power, Winslow, my possible death, all hanging over me, the worse part about it was that I was _alone._

Emma and Sophia had worked hard to ostracize me from everyone else at Winslow, which was just as debilitating as the bullying. Bet now? They weren’t around anymore, and I… I had a ghost of a chance to be _normal_.

I _wanted_ to do this, I _needed_ to do this. Even if it didn’t work out, and if I discovered that Dennis and his friends didn’t click with me, _it was a start._ It meant that I wasn’t fundamentally broken after Winslow and the Locker. I could and would be able to make friends, people that I could trust.

The journey of a thousand miles…

Now I just hoped that it wasn’t a mistake.

* * *

This was a mistake.

I stood just outside the double doors of the cafeteria, eyeing the sea of students inside.

The cafeteria at Arcadia was different than Winslow. Similar, in the way that all school cafeterias were, but unlike Winslow, there was more than just a set of doors heading either into the school or out into the yard.

And it was _clean._

No gang tags, no defaced walls, no old broken cameras hanging limply off their mounts, yet the bustle of teens was all the same. It was jarring really, to see something so familiar, yet different.

I advanced slowly, stepping aside for a few students to exit as I entered. It wasn’t quite the same wall of sound that Winslow had, but it hit me all the same.

Swiveling my head, I checked both sides of the room to try and spot Dennis. The back corner by the exit he’d said, but of both sides, I didn’t see him in either.

Ah well, time to head bac….

“Hey.”

I didn’t _jump_ and nearly hit someone with my bag while spinning around, and Dennis _didn’t_ place his hand on my shoulder afterward either.

“You OK?” he asks, concern flickering in his blue eyes.

“Fine.” Not really, but I needed to be. Just how I needed to be wary about somethings out of habit.

Dennis eye me warily for a moment as he (finally) released my shoulder. “… If you aren’t comfortable with this, I’ll understand. I did kinda just throw this at you, and we… don’t exactly _know_ each other. But that’s how everyone meets really.”

“No, I’m…” what to say? Apprehensive about meeting new people after I (inadvertently) blew up Winslow when I got shoved into a locker filled with human waste? A situation that my (former) best friend caused to happen through her betrayal and subsequent bullying of two years?

“… Fine, it’s just… never mind.”

Dennis didn’t seem convinced, but he gestured for me to follow him anyway. And I followed, because he was right, you _don’t_ know someone the first time you meet them, same goes for the next time, and the next. Only by continuing to talk and meet then would you get to know them.

I just hoped that Dennis wasn’t the type to betray the limited trust I was giving him, as while I was nervous about this happening, I couldn’t think of a better way to get out from under the shadow of Winslow.

Dennis led me to a large round table, populated by a small group of teens.

“Hey Dennis,” called a redhead as we approached. “I see you found her.” The girl tilted her head to the side, her long hair shifting as she smiled softly.

“She _is_ cute.”

Instantly I felt my face heat up, and from the corner of my eye, I saw Dennis’s do the same.

_… this was a_ _ mistake _ _._

The girl laughed. “Finally got you back Dennis; _payback_ , for last month.”

She was nudged in the side by the good-looking blond next to her.

“You got else someone as collateral there, Tory.” Then he turned to face me.

“Sorry about that, these two have something of a rivalry going on. I’m Dean, and you must be Taylor… Dennis has, mentioned, you once or twice.”

Dean was one of those handsome types, a strong chin, nice eyes, blond hair, solid shoulders, and a good smile. The collared shirt was fit enough to show that he had a good frame.

The girl, Tory, was a redhead with long hair and a heart-shaped face. She was pretty in a way that instantly made me think of Emma, yet the soft smile was different from hers, as was how she sat. Prim, proper, those would be the words I would use.

Though the long sleeve and turtleneck were strange.

One of the other two girls at the table huffed with a smile. “More than that, but pay those two no mind, they have a whole prank-war thing going on that no one wants to get involved in.”

The speaker was a platinum blonde, tall, with the type of body and curves that looked like she could be walking down a runway as-is and no one would question it.

And no, I wasn’t jealous.

The last girl sat to the side of the blond, across from Tory. I recognized the mousy girl with the frizzy brown hair, I sat in front of her in one of my classes. She gave me a bit of a curious glance, before going back to her book.

“Less of a war and more of a competition,” Dennis managed to get out.

The blond girl snorted. “I’ve heard the stories from Dean, didn’t you both get grounded for like, two weeks, just a month ago?”

“It was only one week,” Tory countered. “For _me_.”

Dennis grumbled as Tory half rose out of her seat, extending a hand in my direction.

“Sorry about that, couldn’t resist. Victoria Burnwood, but call me Tory.”

Her grip was solid and strong, and she had calluses on the tips of her fingers. Not too dissimilar to the ones that I had at one point from playing the flute.

“Taylor Hebert.”

She nodded. “A pleasure. You already know Dennis, but the man to my right is Dean, the girl across from him is his girlfriend Victoria, and her sister, Amy.”

I glanced between the girl in front of me, and back to the blond one. Tory smiled.

“Vicky and Tory, respectively. Please, take a seat. I don’t know what you experienced at Winslow, and I’ve heard a lot about that place, but you won’t find it here.”

For a moment, I really considered _not_ taking a seat. They _seemed_ fine, and aside from their opening… though really, what did I have to lose at this point?

“I won’t sit next to Vicky,” Dennis said quickly, as he placed a hand on my upper arm to stop me from sitting next to said girl. “She can get a bit… rowdy.”

Beside her, her sister snorted. “Understatement of the year.”

“Hey! I’m not that bad! Right Dean?”

The blond boy clearly hesitated. “Well, you do have your moments Vicky.”

While the pair spoke, Tory patted the chair beside her.

“Here, at least I won’t hit you in the face when I get too excited about something.”

“That happened _once!_ ”

“Still had blood coming out of my nose,” Dennis muttered as he settled down beside Amy, who barely budged, engrossed as she was in reading.

I sat down myself, giving Tory a “Thanks,” as I did so. I felt awkward, but none of the other people at the table seemed to be. It had been so long since I had made friends, was this how it worked? I just, _show up?_ Even though I had little to connect me to everyone else?

I found myself gripping my bag tight under the table. It was something of a non-risk now, bringing a few of my mother’s journals to school. But ingrained instincts told me that they would get damaged, so I had kept the bag close to me all day.

The Trio had been sharp-eyed on getting my things or making sure that no one would come near me (mostly Sophia, but Emma had been quick to do things as well). So I felt… safe, to bring them to school.

Plus, it had given me something to read during lunch. At least, before I had gotten invited to this table.

If Vicky took any offense to Dennis’ previous comment, she clearly didn’t show it. Still wearing the smile, she turned to me and grinned.

“So,” she began ominously, and I suddenly had visions of her asking me about Winslow, about the ice-tree, and about what I knew about it all.

More than once I had overheard someone asking a student about it, and so far, I had managed to avoid getting asked myself.

“… what do you think of our school so far?”

I breathed a silent sigh of relief.

“It’s… different,” was what I managed to reply with.

“I bet,’ Vicky snorted, unfazed. “I heard one that they had to divide the classes by gang affiliation, or hey, did a teacher really get stabbed there?”

I was taken aback; Winslow was bad sure, but a teacher getting _stabbed?_

“Uh, no, I’ve never heard of that happening,” I admitted. “Maybe one getting hurt breaking up a fight? But nothing like that.”

Vicky hummed. “Guess it does sound kinda ridiculous,” she admitted. “So what about-“

“Please don’t interrogate her Vicky,” Dean interrupted. “She just got here and might not appreciate it. Besides, we’ve _all_ heard enough about Winslow over the last few days.”

The blond crossed her arms and pouted. “But we haven’t heard what we all _want_ to know about! Aren’t you curious Dean?”

“No more than the next person here.”

“And considering that _I_ am the one sitting next to him, that’s says a lot,” added Tory.

“Leave it alone Vicky,” her sister, Amy added, eyes still on her book. “People have already told you about the NDA’s, plus I don’t think that it was something that most people would want to be reminded of.”

“… Fine,” Vicky sighed. “I guess you’re right, Ames.” She turned to me and smiled apologetically.

“Sorry, it’s just… normally something like Winslow is all over PHO and the News, but the PRT was really good at glossing things over. Makes you wonder what really happened there.”

I nodded, unsure of what to say; I had my own kind of NDA to keep in mind. Despite the problems I had with the organization, at least the PRT was capable of doing its job right when it was in their best interests.

“But hey!” Vicky perked up. “At least now we finally have someone that we can ask about all those stories about Winslow; really get a personal take on the school.”

“Like the one about the drug lab in the basement,” Vicky ticked off. “How there was a pregnant girl in every class, or that some of the teachers doubled as drug dealers during the night. Oh, hey Taylor, how many of the guys there had E88 tats on their faces?”

“Vicky!”

“ _What?!_ ”

Amy rolled her eyes for a moment and muttered something under her breath. Something that Vicky managed to hear, causing her to poke her sister in the side with her fingers.

“Oh, like you’re one to talk! You introvert.”

“Such a big word for out resident blond,” Dennis said dryly as Amy shied away from the girl. “She’s really learning things here.”

“Is that a dig at blonds Dennis?” Tory asked slowly. “Seems simple for you.”

Dennis shrugged. “Hey, the classics have their place.”

“But by the rules of that stereotype,” Troy said dryly. “Then you and me have no souls, and are wild in bed.”

Dean sighed and placed his head into his hands and groaned as Vicky roared with laughter. “Why do I even sit with you guys?”

“I ask myself the same question every day,” quipped Amy from the other side of the table, unfazed by all that was happening around her. Beside her, Dennis had closed his eyes and was seeming fighting back a blush.

“Well, I kinda walked into that one,” he admitted. “Well played Tory, well played.”

“You’ve giving Taylor a wonderful impression of us right now,” Dean added through his hands. “Really. I’m actually surprised that she hasn’t left yet.”

That thought actually hadn’t even crossed my mind; I was far too used to avoiding attention to do much more than just sit and watch what was happening (and standing up would have turned their attention to me as well). Plus there was the novelty of it, it was… nice, to be sitting in a group that wasn’t either ignoring me or laughing at me.

“At least we stopped talking about Winslow and all the horror stories we’ve heard about it!” Vicky said while laughing. “Instead talking about redheads and their ‘unearthly powers.’”

“Those might be based on facts,” I found myself saying.

Tory turned and raised an eyebrow at me. As did the rest of the table.

“Winslow,” I said quickly as I felt my face _erupt_. “I mean… I don’t know the stories you’ve heard, but… I’m gonna stop talking now.” And hope for the earth to open up and swallow me whole.

 _God,_ what was wrong with me? I didn’t even mean to say anything! It kind of just… spilled out.

They were all so comfortable with each other, talking about this and that, it wasn’t like I had up and joined some random group of people that were tolerating me. Granted, it wasn’t like they were pulling me into the conversation very much either, but still. It was just nice to feel… included, even as an extra.

Now only if I hadn’t decided to say the _weirdest_ thing that I _possibly_ could.

Amy sighed dryly. “Great, another one.”

“Sorry, I… was thinking about Winslow,” I defended. “Not… _that._ ” Because really, I had grown up with a redhead, I had heard of a few of those things before; so it was a multi-sided _ball_ of awkward for me.

“It’s fine,” Tory waved off my aborted attempt at talking with a chuckle. “Other than Brockton, I haven’t spent more than two years in one city yet. I had to move around a lot, so I know what it is like to be the new kid at school; you don’t know anyone, you don’t know your way around, everyone seems to know each other and acts like they’ve all known each other for years…”

The girl sighed. “It is normal to feel like you’re the outsider to someplace new and that you don’t belong because everyone just acts _normal,_ and you don’t know what that quite is yet. But take it from a professional.” Tory smiled. “No one is _normal_ , we’re all a little mad; the trick is to find people just as mad as you are to hang out with, then you’ll be normal, just like everyone else.”

We all stared at Tory for several seconds, before Dennis started to slowly clap.

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” he began. “Victoria Burnwood, living philosophy book.”

Tory preened. “Thanks! I’ve had some time to think about it, and I’m happy that it didn’t sound pretentious.”

“But seriously,” Tory said while turning back to me. “None of us here are going to bite you, though if you politely ask Dean to, you’ll get to watch him sputter around for a few minutes while Vicky tries, and fails, to look jealous.”

“What do you mean, _‘fails?’_ ” Vicky asked.

“We all know that Dean would never do anything stupid like that,” stated Tory. “So really, it mostly comes down to you wanting to stake your claim, but holding off because you enjoy the reactions of the other girls when you slide up and kiss him while they’re flirting with him.”

“Well can you blame me?” Vicky asked. “Look at him.”

Dean sighed and cast his gaze upward, but he had a bit of a smile on his face.

This all was… different. It had been mostly me and Emma for so long, with us both dragging each other to meet other friends sure, but we had been… close.

Here? It almost _hurt_ watching them all talk, because I could see me and Emma here; well, mostly Emma, but I would have stuck around even if she had left.

Part of me wanted to join in, to talk about something, to be a part of the group rather than just going with the flow.

I didn’t want to start off by talking about schoolwork, nor by just asking everyone to talk about themselves for me (as then that could lead to questions about me, questions that I probably wasn’t ready for yet).

Lucky, I had spotted something that could use to get the ball rolling.

However, Vicky noted where I was looking and misinterpreted. She jammed her elbow into her sister, knocking her aside as she hissed at her.

“Ames! You’re being rude!”

Amy jerked and stared at her sister, eyes wide. “What?”

I hurried to interject between the two sisters. “No, it’s… have you gotten to ART yet?” I ask Amy in a hurry.

Amy turned to look at me, eyes questioning. “Uh, yeah. He just dropped him off at the transit ring.”

I nodded. “Yeah, meeting the group to get down to the surface, right?”

Amy’s gaze turned more towards the interested spectrum. “You’ve read it?”

“Yeah,” I replied. “Not my normal type of book but… the publisher tends make good recommendations in the back of their books.”

“Considering they’re practically the biggest publisher in the world, it’s to be expected.”

Lost Souls Publishers started out in the early 1900s, they made a name for themselves by taking practically every story that crossed their desks and publishing them in books that contained a few thousand-word snippets. Form there they expanded, making full-length books out of the ones that people wanted more of, or releasing another set of books that contained the next part of a previous story.

By the ’40s, even with World War Two raging, they continued their practice of releasing books by the dozens, each containing several stories, all at cheap prices. Many of their stories were credited towards helping stabilize the economy during the Crash, at least up until WWII kicked everything into high gear.

Come the 90’s Lost Souls has changed their name to Lost Souls Inc. and was all but a (hidden and unknown) household name, having printed everything from easy cookbooks for people just moving out on their own, to bestsellers, and everything in between, all while still releasing those books that held several, sometimes totally different, stories within them.

They even teamed up with big-name authors and other publishers, like R.A. Stine, Dean Koontz, and others, to make books containing a set of short stories from them.

The end result was that people knew about Lost Souls, even if they never really knew _of_ them, kind like city workers; people knew that it was someone’s job to fix potholes and repair power lines, but you less you bothered to look into things, you never really would realize how big they were as an organization and how much they really did.

My mother was the one who got me started with the publishers’ books; she gifted me a few of her old books from her teenage years, some of which had become full-fledged novels by the time I had gotten around to reading them.

“Any favorites from them?” I ask.

“Ames here liked the one about people eating each other,” Vicky interrupted. “Not my thing, but I liked the fight scenes.”

“Vicky! I told you before, that’s not what it’s about!”

Vicky just rolled her eyes and wave it off. “Yeah yeah, some kid gets hurt in an accident, gets the wrong body parts stuffed into him and now he’s a cannibal. Seriously Amy, it’s _weird_ , and I really don’t know why you liked it. They were the _bad guys_.”

“That wasn’t what it was about! They were still- oh why do I even bother.” Amy shook her head, turned away from her sister, and back to me. “Did you read the one that started The Way of the Shadows? Not many liked the short stories that it came with, but I’m still holding out hope for that one with the samurai that fell into the distant future. That one had promise.”

I had to think about it for a second. “Maybe? It was my mom that got me started in Lost Souls publishing, she had some of the old books that were made when she was a kid, like the ones from the ’90s. It sounds familiar…”

“Question!” Tory yelped by shooting her hand up into the air. “If you’ve read some of the old ones Taylor… then Alucard or the Count?”

Like before, it took me a moment to recall what she was talking about. But the first name was the clue that helped jog my memory.

“I wasn’t a fan of how over the top they got in Hellsing,” I conceded. “The plot with Trevor and the _other_ Alucard was far better.”

Tory narrowed her eyes at me while cocking her head to the side.

“… Sorry Dennis,” Tory said aloud after a few moments. “But I’m keeping this one. Should have grabbed her when you had the chance.”

Dennis laughed sheepishly and I had to avert my eyes to avoid seeing his blush.

“Ah, figures,” Vicky sighed. “Another one that likes the monsters.”

“They weren’t monsters,” Tory defended. “They were people that got dealt the worst hand life could offer. True, some happily traveled down the path of the monster, both the main characters were the ones that were doing their best to ink out a life as best as they could.”

“Being a monster is not your appearance, nor what others think of you,” I quote, drawing the eyes of everyone at the table. “It is all just a matter of semantics. Someone could call themselves a hero and still walk around killing dozens. Someone else could be labeled a villain for trying to stop them. Plenty of humans are monstrous, and plenty of monsters know how to play at being human. It is all in the actions that you do, and how those actions are viewed by the world, what you do, _that_ defines you. When you decide that you yourself are a monster, that is when you truly become one*.”

The whole table was staring at me, and I ducked my head reflexively.

“Sorry, it was one of my mothers’ quotes. She got it from a book.” I frowned. One that I hadn’t read yet, as I couldn’t place where it was from.

“It _sounds_ nice,” Vicky started. “But it also sounds like it contradicts itself. If you don’t decide that you are a monster, but do what others view as monstrous things, that doesn’t make you a monster?”

“It’s a mind puzzle,” I supplied without thinking. “Like the saying, ‘If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?’ It’s two different things mixed into one, a contradiction, but something that means something that is for the person to figure out.”

“It’s how the world isn’t black and white, but shades of grey,” Dean cut in. “Frankenstein’s monster was considered a monster for example, but solely because of what he looked like, he never acted the part. It was the world that turned him into a monster, driving him to everything he did. In the end, he _became_ a monster, just like everyone thought he was.”

For several seconds, the table was silent.

“… I thought the monster was Frankenstein,” stated Vicky, much to the dismay of her sister.

“That was the name of the man who made him,” Amy clarified. “He never really gets a name, so people thought of him as Frankenstein’s monster, then it later got shifted to just Frankenstein.”

Vicky ‘huh’-ed at my words. “Never knew that.”

“Mom loved those types of books,” I said softly, drawing the eyes of the table again. “She said they made you think, rather than just told you what to think.”

“She sounded liked a wise woman,” Tory said. Her tone carried something more than just what her words meant.

“Yeah, she was.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [hr] [/hr]  
> A/N: Ok, so… long story short, life happened to both me and my beta, and I continued to plop away at this story building up a buffer, working out the plot…  
> Which requires a bit of background. You see, with how I have it set up, the moment the Warframe part of this kicks into gear, everything with revolve around them (for the most part) so I needed to work out the Worm side of things before that happened.  
> Makes sense considering its rather obvious that I’m going for the mystery route on the Warframe side of things, downside however?  
> I have a lot on the Worm side of things to do if I wanted to address people and plots (like Coil and Lung, the Undersiders, etc.) before they become irrelevant, which was compounded by how I wanted the Warframe parts to play out later on via basing them upon those Plot points…  
> So now this arc has eleven chapters total.  
> Considering that I had planned for most arcs to be more like Pain Threshold and Rolling Guard in length (aka five to eight at most)…  
> Well, I’ve decided just to roll with it, hopefully this isn’t a thing that each arc just gets long and longer as this story goes on (it shouldn’t after this everything starts to get pretty straightforward as a lot of the Worm background foundations have been set, its just a matter of wrapping them up along the way to the Warframe plot).  
> Also, updates will happen once a week, with breaks happening in-between the arcs to allow me to maintain my buffer (I kinda want to just drop this chapters over a course of a few days, but as my beta pointed out that would mean you’d all have to go without for a untold amount of time so…).  
> But anyway, now that that’s done, a pair of small notes:  
> *Nods to Canon Taylor with drink: Here’s to you Kiddo, for all the things you did, you never once really became the Monster… then again, you never were the Hero either.  
> (On the other hand, that is debatable, given that Khepri existed…)  
> I also started up a Ko-fi (something I’m on the fence about considering the current world climate), and will use it to mark out extra side stories that I haven’t already thought of and marked out as Plot-Critical yet.  
> Feel free to check it out, or don’t, your choice.  
> https://ko-fi.com/thewatchersnetwork  
> Oh, and I’m trying to rework the side stories into the main Threadmarks as we speak (because I am I idiot and didn’t see that they were separate until later), so if you haven’t been here since the beginning, check them out, they have (some) plot.


	24. 3.4 Firewalker

_April 13 th_

_Ming hmphed, and heavily tapped her cane on the floor._

_“But I know your type girl,” she said with an air of confidence. “I was a nurse for nearly twenty years, so I know exactly what you feel, and the things you think.”_

_She jabbed her cane at Amy, drawing a small gasp from the girl as it impacted._

_“Do you really think you’re the first person to get tired of helping people hmm?” she asks. “That you are alone carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders. Well let me just correct you on that matter; people die girl, it happens, and there is nothing you can do about that. Our time all comes in the end, why do you think that I don’t want you to heal me?”_

_“I’ve outlived three husbands and two sons, and from the looks of things that number will go up to three as well if he doesn’t pull his head out of his ass. To say nothing of never seeing grandkids for the same reason.”_

_The son in question blew air out of his nose heavily, though it sounded more like a growl than anything._

_“So know this healer girl,” Ming continued. “You will never save everyone, people so much better than you have tried, and they failed as well. So, listen up and listen well.”_

_Ming leaned closer, her two milky eyes still locking on to Amy’s own._

_“If you don’t take the time to stand for yourself, to stop and know and understand that the world will still keep turning if you aren’t around, then you will end up doing more harm than good.”_

_“Because if you stay on this course of yours, you will end up becoming unrecognizable to even yourself.”_

* * *

_March 26th_

Going from sitting alone to being in a group was jarring, and not just with the fact that I was surrounded by people with (almost) no worry of getting ‘pranked’ from behind.

No, it was the fact that I could sit down and engage in conversations with people who _wanted_ to talk to me and have me talk to them that was really throwing me for a loop.

Now, why did that sound so sad?

Most of the ‘conversations’ that had I had had over the last two years involved talking to teachers, dealing with the Trio, or getting talked to by other social outcasts like Greg (who never could get the hint), so suddenly getting asked questions and being asked for options was just off-putting, really.

I had been so used to being alone that the fact that none of them were really pushing for me to talk was nice, even if it meant that I spent most of my time sitting and listening to the group talk about this and that.

They still tried to include me, though it was mostly Dennis and Tory that did that; Dean had his hands full dealing with being Vicky's boyfriend plus dealing with Dennis and Tory's good-natured sniping at each other. Amy mostly kept to herself, either with a book or simply sitting at the table, keeping track of the conversation.

So far, everything seemed ‘normal,’ if I could use that word. Really it only worked because none of them were doing anything different than they normally would (or at least it seemed so).

I didn’t really know if that was a good thing, as on one hand, it meant that I wasn’t getting any special treatment or recognition from them all and they were just acting ‘normally’ like I wasn’t new to the group. On the other hand however…

I still felt something like an outsider.

There were jokes and memories that were inclusive to the group, of which I had no connection to, no idea about, and would often end up feeling lost over this or that when it didn’t involve something like school.

Which was most things really, turns out not having much of a social life for two years was really detrimental to social experiences.

Some measures were taken to try and get me included, little things, like Tory asking me about me, or Dennis trying to get us to go see a movie together over the weekend, (Vicky and Dean had plans, as did Tory, and Amy didn’t want to go so it didn’t really work out despite Dennis pushing for it).

It was nice, and I knew that I really shouldn’t be complaining all that much, the simple idea of being the center of the group's entire attention filled me with something close to dread. A left-over from the Trio that I was working through.

It had never been a nice thing when everyone’s eyes had been on me back at Winslow.

There was also the issue of the… disconnect, that existed between them and me. For the most part, each member of the group I found myself in was in a better social footing than I was. Dean’s dad was grooming him to take over his business, Vicky and Amy always seemed to be wearing designer clothes, even Dennis and Tory had different views on things than I did.

For them, grabbing a full lunch every day was something that even worth thinking about, and sure, the basics were covered by the school for free (water, juice, sandwiches, a slice of pizza), but if you wanted anything more than what you got in line (like a soda, something extra from the line, or a snack), you had to pay for it.

Most of the time brought my own lunch: it had only been a few days in total so far of going to Arcadia, but I had done the numbers quick enough in my head and figured that it would strain my dad’s budget as well as my own personal one to eat like my new ‘friends’ did every day.

Not that I was worried about having to rely on the government to help us out anytime soon (it wasn’t like me and dad had any real expenses, plus we had the extra payment from Winslow to fall back on), but that didn’t change years of keeping an eye on things.

My family was never going to get the ‘size of a living room table’ TV after all, not without having to pay it off over what could be a few years at least (for someone that claimed not to watch that much TV, Vicky was really happy about having it, but I was sure that it had to do with being able to sit next to Dean), and while my parents never had to buy me second-hand clothes, there was a difference between going shopping for clothes, and going _clothes_ shopping.

That one I learned from Emma and her mom years ago.

But not every one of the group was quite like that; Tory seemed to only have long-sleeve shirts, sweaters, and comfortable-looking shoes, but with the prim and proper way she held herself, coupled with how she acted when she _wasn’t_ digging at Dennis, it didn’t come as a surprise to find that she had been homeschooled for most of her life. While her clothes were practical (other than the fact she was always wearing either a long-sleeve or a sweater) they too were always on the higher end of things. Even her shoes were of a name brand despite being worn down.

Amy was similar to Tory, but in a way that was disturbing to _me_.

She wore loose, non-revealing clothing and kept to herself most of the time, either via book or by simply not injecting herself into the conversation. She relied on Vicky or the others to keep things going while she watched. That wasn’t to say she didn’t interject once in a while, but it was usually only after someone had addressed her or on something she was knowledgeable about.

It wasn’t that similar to what I had done for two years, but it close enough that I noticed it. If there was one thing I could say I enjoyed learning during my therapy time, it was how to read people.

Mr. Rieper had taught it the basics or watching people for tells and body language to demonstrate how _I_ looked in a mirror. Seeing how he had reflected my body language back at me had been an eye-opener.

I wasn’t going to be using it to catch criminals anytime soon, but I had been shown enough that I understood the basics; enough so that I could see a reflection in Amy’s actions with my own.

She didn’t seem to be the subject of any bullying, nor did it seem that there was something else going on. At times she did get animated and acted more like a ‘normal’ girl, but I had only seen it once or twice.

This was a downside to the group acting ‘normally:’ I couldn’t tell if Amy’s (or anyone else’s) actions were how they _normally_ acted. Were they hamming it up for my sake? Taking about things like school and going shopping or to the movies just to make me feel included? Or was _really_ this the normal day-to-day? Because there were times where someone said something or did something that I felt I was missing the point of.

… I didn’t really want to interfere, as maybe this was just how Amy _was,_ and it wasn’t my place or problem. But at the same time… no one had ever helped _me_ at Winslow, and making friends with another book reader would be… nice.

It could give us something to talk about.

It was all flimsy reasoning at best; the “not wanting to interfere,” how “no one ever helped me at Winslow,” and with the whole “book reading thing” (though it wasn’t like I was going to join a book club or anything, it would just be nice.). It was the same type of not-my-problem reasoning that others had likely thought when they saw _me_ being bullied.

_‘… First they came for the socialists, and I did not speak out; Because I was not a socialist.’_

I never wanted to think of myself as a person that would stand by and watch another suffer, and the fact that I noticed that something was up with Amy and immediately didn’t want to get involved because it wasn’t my problem sickened me; which I viewed as a good thing, it meant that I still had empathy and a sense of right and wrong.

Which made me better than everyone at Winslow and even some at the PRT.

Actually _talking_ to her was going to be the issue. What _are_ the social standards about asking if someone was doing all right in a serious way when you yourself were dealing with your own issues?

Which wasn’t the first bridge for me to cross, because there I was, having just said hello to Amy in the class we shared, and her only reaction was to look up from her schoolbook and say ‘hello’ back.

Then she turned back her book without a word, no recognition in her eyes.

Which both stung and alarmed me; I had been sitting with his girl and her friends for the last few days, I even talked to her about schoolwork and books! Yet she just looked me dead in the eyes and seemingly had no idea who I was.

… maybe there _was_ something up with Amy.

“Hell _llooo?_ Amy?” I ask.

The girl glances up at me with a disgruntled expression. “What?”

For a moment, I am stumped. There was something _defiantly_ up with her.

“Taylor?” I say questioningly while tapping my chest.

It takes an uncomfortably _long_ moment for the light to dawn in her eyes. “Oh my god, Taylor! sorry, I just…”

I wait for her to continue; it took a few seconds.

“… I forgot you were in this class,” she finished lamely as she set down her book.

“… you ok?” I ask in the several seconds of silence afterward (huh, that was easier than I thought).

“Fine. Just a bit tired, that’s all.”

She didn’t _look_ tired, but hey, what did I know about looking tired? Maybe she had stayed up late working on homework?

But that wouldn’t explain why she didn’t recognize me.

“So,” Amy continued, perking up a bit. “… been doing good in this class? Not having difficulties?”

“… Yeah,” I replied. “It isn’t much different from what I was doing at Winslow, just… further along.”

Amy nodded, and then we both kinds of sit there for half a minute as the rest of the class began to filter in.

… _fuck_ this was awkward. How did people get to know each other enough to become friends again?

Oh yeah… they _talked_ _about things_.

“… did you finish that book you were reading?” I ask.

Amy fidgeted for a moment with her history book, adjusting where it was on her desk.

“… No, I don’t… really do much reading at home.”

“Really?”

“For the most part,” Amy admitted. “I… do other things with most of my free time.”

“Such as?”

“… I go for walks really.”

Walks? Amy didn’t strike me as the _walking_ type, she seemed… too bookish for that. But, whatever she did on her personal time was up to her, so…

“Any particular place that you enjoy?” I prompt. “I… do a bit of jogging myself, though, it’s mostly because I was… told that I need to get out more.”

“Um…” Amy hesitates for a second, before sighing.

“Look, if… I don’t really do requests from people, outside from professionals or certain situations. It would make my life hell on Earth if I accepted everyone’s request to get healed, so know.”

“I’m sorry? Heal me?” I ask. “What do you mean?”

Amy narrows her eyes at me. “You’re joking, right?” she asked, before leaning forward a bit and looking me over.

“… you’re not, are you? You don’t really know _who_ I _am?_ ”

I wasn’t really following this part of the conversation and just looked at her. Was she the daughter of someone of note in the Bay? Were there even people like that even still around?

The realization that I _didn’t_ know what Amy was talking about sank in after a few moments, upon which she slapped her hands into her face and groaned.

“I’m _so_ sorry,” she muffled out as she dragged her hands down her face.

“Pretty much ever since I _got_ my powers people have gone and asked me to heal them”, states Amy. “The average person doesn’t tend to recognize me, but there are always those few that do and think, ‘oh, she can fix me, it’s what she does,’ despite the pleas _not_ to bug me over something like having a scar removed or wanting your boobs to be bigger. Most people tend to be nice about it as well, but there have been a few… incidents. Most of Arcadia have learned to leave me alone at this point, but some of the new kids from Winslow…”

Amy shook her head and sighed.

“Let’s try this again,” Amy extended her hand to me. “Hi, I’m Amy Dallon, also known as Panacea.”

And the final pieces fell into place; I had half-gathered _who_ Amy was from her speech, but it was something else to get conformation.

Panacea, noun; a remedy for all ills or difficulties: cure-all.

A powerful name for the world’s best healer, of which there were few of in the same category as Panacea.

Everything from the flu to genetic disorders, no matter what it was, Panacea could take care of it.

And I was speaking to her and had _no_ idea.

When I had looked into capes after getting my powers, it had been mostly a look into _powers_ , Trigger Events and how people got/used them. I knew of most of Brockton Bay’s Protectorate capes through simply living here, as well as through things like the news and some general searches on the internet; but none of that meant that I knew them all by _sight_.

I could easily peg a few like Armsmaster, Miss Militia, or Dauntless if I walked past them on the street, but I hadn’t spent enough time looking things over to identify anyone else on the spot (outside a few like Hookwolf or Alabaster, but they were rather… infamous for several obvious reasons), and New Wave was unfortunately on that list.

It was funny, really, as much of New Wave were either flyers or had bright light-based powers; both were things one tended to notice in a casual setting.

 _Panacea,_ on the other hand, tended to be in the background, working a supporting role rather then trading punches on the frontlines. Add that to the PRT and PHO doing their absolute best in following the ‘Unwritten Rules’ wherever and whenever they can, it wasn’t _that_ much of surprise that I didn’t recognize Amy on the spot.

Still didn’t stop me from feeling _stupid,_ however.

“… does Vicky know about the other connotation to her name?”

In a second, Amy regained that deer in headlights look, and I felt my face heat up as well.

Of all the things I could open my mouth to _say._

No Taylor, let’s _not_ talk about how you just found out your new friend was a cape, instead, talk about how her sister/teammate picked a name that is sometimes mocked as a sexual act.

“… it… _took,_ a few years for her to find out about that actually,” Amy admitted, a blush quickly rising. “But by that point she had been using the name and kind of… rolled with it? I guess? Vicky was old enough that understood it and joked about it later at least, and it’s not like anyone that fights her calls her _that,_ unless they want their face smashed in while she’s _smiling_ at least.”

“So she takes it as well as she can?” I half ask. “That's… mature of her.”

“Well, it’s more like she acts like she doesn’t care, but if someone does bring it up… There is a reason that she sometimes gets called ‘Collateral Damage Barbie,’” Amy says in a dry tone.

I find myself snorting in an attempt to cover up my laughter. Then I realize that she still had her hand out for me to shake (even if it had dropped a bit at this point).

“Taylor Herbert,” I supply, finally taking her hand in a handshake.

… And then watched in concern as Amy’s eyes unfocused for a moment when we clasped hands.

“Amy?”

The unmasked cape blinked twice, then stared me in the eyes.

“… You _definingly_ were at Winslow,” she stated after a moment. “You have the same… thing, that most people were effected with, but you seem to be one of the lucky ones. Yours is… the best term I can use is stable, even with the fact that I can’t do anything to the affected areas.”

“The doctors at the hospital gave me a clean bill of health,” I warily say as I pull back my hand. Amy held on for a moment (a split second that I wasn’t even really sure about) before she let go.

“I can view everything from your cells, straight down to your DNA,” Amy counters. “I can learn things with a touch that doctors will take _days_ to figure out, let alone something like _this._ But they were right about one thing, you _are_ healthy, top-of-the-line health really; no major disease risks, no heavy wear and tear, no signs of illness beyond the basic harmless bacteria’s that you’re fighting off. The only thing that could be considered ‘wrong’ with you is your eyesight and the fact that you need to eat a little more and better, but that’s something is almost universal for teenagers.”

“Really? That’s… both cool and slightly creepy at the same time.”

“I’ve kind of gotten used to it,” Amy replied with a sigh. “But yeah, there were times that I first used my powers and figured out some things that had me blushing when I brushed into people; I started wearing long sleeves after that for a while, but I got over it.”

Once more, we lapped into silence, but at least this one felt less awkward.

“… So a lot of people ask you to heal them?” I ask in an attempt to keep things going.

“Every now and then,” Amy says with a shrug and another sigh. “Though the hospital is good at keeping them away, and I don’t really go out patrolling with New Wave so it isn’t like I’m easily recognizable after all. Most kids in Arcadia tend to pay more attention to Vicky when she starts to show off.”

“I didn’t even know who she was,” I admitted.

“Yeah,” Amy sighs. “Vicky tries to take things easy when she’s at school, responsibility and all that. The fact that you’re new and she doesn't want to freak you out helps too. Give it another week and she’ll start flying over to the table.”

The bell rang and the room was filled with the bustling sounds of students settling in their seats. Amy picked back up her book and smiled at me.

“Sorry about not recognizing you, again,” she stated.

“Talk later?” I Inquired.

“… Sure.”

As I turned back around to face the front of the classroom, I reflected on the fact that Amy’s tone didn’t sound at all sure.

* * *

I was half-right.

Amy clearly wasn’t really expecting me to stick around and wait for her when the class ended, as when I asked her where and what her next class was, she blinked at me owlishly.

“Ah, Math, room two-oh-eight…. You?”

“English, three-twenty-seven.”

“Mr. Herk? He only teaches AP classes.”

I shrugged. “Mom was an English professor… shall we go?”

Our classes were on the same side of Arcadia, but on different levels. We could walk together for a bit, but I would either need to go past her class or break off beforehand for the stairs.

When I pointed that out to Amy, she was… wary wasn’t the word, more that she was interested, but only in the fact that I was seemingly willing to walk with her. Curious maybe?

Two years of looking out for evil looks and avoiding people kinda ruined my people reading skills.

Amy was well experienced in navigating Arcadia’s halls, making it hard for me to keep up; where I would still look for places that I could slip by without interacting with anyone or wait for a group to disperse to avoid being trapped, she would push forward and join in the queue of masses heading to class.

She did glace back after a minute or so; my height made it easy for me to keep track of her, and for her to see that she was leaving me behind. For a moment, it looked like she would continue on without me, before she stepped to the side and waited for me to catch up.

“Sorry, I’m used to traveling on my own,” Amy half mumbled when I caught up. “It’s better for me to get this part over with so I don’t have to touch anyone.”

Ah, her power. If she couldn’t turn it off and it worked on skin contact… Then the moment someone bumped into her she could learn everything about their biology.

“I get it. I… had to do something similar back at Winslow,” I admitted.

Amy glanced at me as we started moving again, the obvious question in her eyes.

“… someone close to me made… let’s call it a bad decision, and I ended up paying the price for it.”

Because as much as I wanted to kick Emma to the curb and leave her there, hearing what little Alan had told me and Dad before Dad told him to never see us again (it was rather smart on Alan’s part that he had stayed by the hospital room’s door, lest he get the Hebert Treatment) had made me feel… sorry, for Emma.

In the whole ‘Dracula had a wife and she was killed so he swore vengeance,’ kind of way. You feel sympathy, but that doesn’t stop you from rooting for Belmont to defeat him and win.

I wasn’t _ever,_ going to offer my friendship back to Emma, but I could see us running into each other years down the road (likely decades) and me being civil in asking how she was; I probably wouldn’t try to keep in touch after that either.

Amy hummed, clearly not knowing what to say, and as we walked and the crowds thinned, I bit the bullet.

“Part of that was the reason that I, kind of, wanted to talk to you.”

“Pardon?”

I sighed. “I…” I started, gathering my thoughts even as I stopped by the stairwell. “I know what it is like to look from the outside in, to be… present, but not really included. I saw a bit of that in you,” I admitted. “Where you were there, acting fine, but really it was more like… Feelings Inside Not Expressed?”

“I just didn’t want to be that type of person what saw what happened to me at Winslow, happen to someone else and didn’t do anything about it.”

Amy’s mouth had popped open a bit in shock, her eyebrows had shot up towards her hairline, and I felt the sudden need to just dig that hole _a little bit deeper._

“I, I, I just assumed things,” I stuttered out. “I didn’t really know you, and you weren’t exactly outgoing most of the time, and maybe I was projecting, or reflecting, Mr. Rieper wasn’t really clear on how those differed…”

“Easy Taylor,” Amy stated, grasping my arm at the wrist. “Don’t put yourself into a panic over being human and having human insecurities.”

“I’m not panicking,” I defended while taking several quick breaths.

Amy just lifted an eyebrow and shook my arm with her hand. “World’s greatest healer, remember?”

“… maybe a little bit.” I took a deep breath and tried to center myself.

“I just am tired of how things were and everything that happened to me and want it to go _right_ from now on _,_ ” I blurted out.

“Yeah,” Amy sighed, releasing my arm. “We all kinda want that in our lives.”

I want to say that we shared a moment, where we bonded over events in our lives that were out of our control. It felt like a moment between friends.

Or I might have been projecting again.

“I have a bit of advice for you then,” Amy stated. “Something that I’ve picked from watching on the sidelines.”

“Take Dennis up on his movie offer, he would really appreciate it.”

“What, why? No one else was able going, so I thought he canceled.”

“That’s because he only asked everyone _else_ because he felt that you wouldn’t go if it was just you and him, which is what he really wanted in the first place, _and_ while he picked a day that he knew everyone would be busy. But then you went and said no.”

But why would Dennis do that? Me and him only really hung out at lunch or in the computer lab.

Sure, he was friendly and helpful, and made steps to include me into the group (really, he was the only reason that I was actually even there), but still. It _was_ nice to feel included, but he was right in this thinking about me and the group, even more so if it was just the two of us; it would almost be like a dat-

…

[URL= https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UWY5lInEOqw] Wut?[/URL]

…

_What?_

Amy rolled her eyes and sighed. “Great, there are two of you, you're perfect for each other.”

And before I could even _begin_ to unpack that bombshell, Amy pushed me towards the flight of stairs.

“Go, or you be late. I’ll… I’ll see you at lunch,” she said as she pushed.

I watched her walk off for a moment, still processing everything ( _Wot._ ) before old habits kicked in and I automatically began to walk to class.

… aside from the whole nearly having a panic attack, and the now-a-thing with Dennis, I felt that all went rather well. Sure, I may have made myself look like a bit of a fool (and been perhaps a bit forward on the whole thing), but I walked away feeling like me and Amy were actual friends now, and _not_ just two people that happened to sit at the same table.

I still felt like an idiot for not knowing that Amy was _Panacea_ , and it did explain why she acted the way she did. Having the ability to heal anything with a touch would make anyone at least _want_ to ask if she could do something; at least I lucked out in that regard.

With my power, I doubted that anyone would be asking me to use it.

Though I did learn something far more interesting from Amy’s power. She gave me a clean bill of health, something that I myself wasn’t that sure about given what I had recently learned.

I wasn’t idle about my power, just because I didn’t want anything to do with it didn’t mean that I was too foolish not to look into power-related things.

It was something that I noticed back when Dad and me were back in the apartment, I had stayed up all night without realizing it, only to experience no ill effects. It had made me… curious, about something.

I put off looking into it, really out of my own procrastination, until we’d moved back into our home, then did a few tests. Who wouldn’t?

I had a _superpower;_ despite _how_ I got it, a tiny part of me was still going, ‘what can I _do?_ ’

My limited tests showed me that I didn’t have faster reflexes, I didn’t get tougher skin, nor did I have my sight improved, so I figured that all I had was that ice power, some kind of Blaster/Shaker mix.

But that late night stuck with me, so I did another small test.

I found it… funny really. Amy said that I needed to eat more but was otherwise fine, that there was nothing wrong with me.

In reality, it has been nearly four days since I’d eaten or drank _anything._ Two of those were also without any _sleep._

Which was more than _interesting_ , because I’d yet to really suffer any ill effects from it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This is the second to last chapter before we get into the chain reaction of events that leads to Taylors long awaited (and likely long overdue) power testing.   
> Next chapter looks into Coil and whats going on with him and how he’s taking everything that’s going on.  
> Then after testing mini-arc/phase gets done it’s the final two chapters of the Firewalker Arc, of which I’m actually looking forward to more than the testing at this point (but it’s a close thing).  
> Following all of that I need to make one or two side stories to cover a few things, and the Dragon interlude.


	25. 3.5 Firewalker

_April 13 th_

_Such a chain of events was unprecedented, unpredicted, and Coil was totally unprepared for it._

_And in a manner that had him_ running _through his base._

_The Empire, enraged and snapping at everything that moved, were all but forming riots on the streets as Kaiser and Co. whipped their followers into a frenzy by using both his injuries and the events of the fair to his advantage._

_The Merchants, or more accurately, Squealer and Skidmark with a handful of just-as-high followers (the rest of them seemed to still have held onto a marginal bit of common sense), were running wild in the Docks in ‘protest’ to the sudden surge of capes and cops in the area, despite the heavy hands that the PRT and Protectorate were slamming down on them._

_Finally, there were the ABB, who were amassing at the edges of their territory in preparation of the oncoming gang fight._

_And to say nothing of what was happening at his base!_

_Three dead capes, dozens of civilians wounded, possibly several cape idents revealed, and four high profile capes were in critical condition, bad enough that Panacea hadn’t left their sides, even after she’d healed them and gotten harmed herself._

_It was just a smash-and-grab! How did Tattletale screw up this badly?_

_The PRT weren’t just trying to stop the train, they were_ derailing _it, just in an attempt to stop the city from burning down around them._

_Coil ended yet another timeline, which again, failed. He had picked the wrong choice this morning and now he was paying for it._

_But there was still hope, a choice from another day would be his savior._

_The guards at the door took one look at him, practically sprinting, and opened the door without a word._

_Had it not been such a serious time, he would have had them both shot for such lack of attention to basic protocols._

_Now? Given what was happening? It just made it all the easier to get inside._

_“Hello my pet, I have questions for you.”_

* * *

_March 22th_

In one timeline, Thomas Calvert went to the PRT headquarters, where he shared a large office with three other consultants. He was fully rested for the day, having gotten a full night sleep, a solid breakfast, and had even managed to read part of the mornings' paper.

In the other timeline, Coil was reviewing several reports, including one about the latest from Mr. Pitter about the drug regimen that he had requested.

The report he was reviewing at the time, however, had to do with Tattletale and Taylor Hebert.

When Coil had first encountered an issue with his power, he had assumed that he had simply made a mistake (not that he shared this information with _anyone_ ).

It was a simple thing, really. He ordered someone to perform a task in one timeline and gave similar-but-altered orders, in the other timeline; a standard use for his power.

After he collapsed the timeline, however, Coil found things not as they should be. Orders and taskings were mixed up, with reports stating that he gave _both_ orders from the two different timelines.

The order to blackmail someone to place them under Coil's thumb was mixed in with the order to eliminate them. It was still a net gain for Coil, but still concerning.

His first thought was that perhaps he had missed something, that he had forgotten that he placed both orders, that the blackmail hadn’t worked in either timeline.

The thought was discarded swiftly, because Coil had files and reports that suggested otherwise.

Then it happened again: several deeds were purchased for the land around the Bay, when he hadn’t kept that timeline, instead picking the timeline where he had decided to lower the value of the land via manipulation of a gang fight to lower the price.

Several other events occurred as well, little things which spoke of a disturbing trend.

Mercs being in the wrong place, money being in the wrong account, teams reporting in later than they should because they were ordered to wait, work at his PRT cover not getting finished, his cup of coffee still being full after he drank it, and the most disturbing, ending a timeline to find himself not where he should be.

Currently, that last one was the most pressing, it hadn’t been anything more than end up standing next to a chair rather than sitting in it, but the possibility of finding himself in the wrong timeline had crossed Coil's mind more than once.

This all had forced him to reevaluate his power; logically, Coil knew that it was highly unlikely that he was really duplicating an entire universe, it was more likely that he had some form of perfect Precog power. From there it was a simple matter of looking deeper into Precog research and how the world's leading scientists were trying to explain it.

Which would hopefully explain why he was… having errors.

The best that Coil could find was that Precogs were simply simulating the future to such a degree that they were predicting it. This theory was held up, and drew Coil's attention, by tests performed along the lines of Schrodinger's cat. Experiments of the theoretical quantum variety had shown that Precogs could be wrong.

Sometimes. The experiments and submitted papers were ‘theoretical’ after all.

But it did mean something to Coil: it meant that there was something, or some _one,_ was acting like a quantum particle and messing with his power.

Which was better than the other theories that he was either losing his mind or his power was failing for no reason.

As such, Coil launched a hidden investigation, seeking out the source of the disruption.

This was a trial to be sure; he did not want anyone to know about his little… _problem_. While he knew he had the loyalty of those inside the organization, it was the few on the outskirts that presented the issue.

Tattletale herself likely had already gotten an inkling, if only because of her power. But Coil doubted that she would try anything… foolish (yet).

Finding the cause of his power’s problems was far easier than understanding them, for there had been a public enough Trigger to give an easy lead.

Grabbing the girl while she was at the PRT-provided apartment was trivial, given both his power at the PRT and the resources at his disposal. Once he had her, it was easy to identify her as the source.

The short timeline where he grabbed and bagged the girl was enough to show him that her power (whatever it was) was causing the interference. Coil had toyed with killing her, before discarding the timeline, as the number of people that knew about Taylor Hebert were slim, and while he would walk through the investigation just fine, Coil knew that he would lose far too many assets by eliminating her at that juncture.

He made sure to always had one of the guards watching her under his payroll however, as a back-up plan.

The second attempt was a few days again. This one also featured grabbing the girl in one timeline, while he sent Tattletale to ‘speak’ with the girl in the other, with the end goal of pulling her into his ranks. Willingly or not.

It also was a test for the smug villain, to see if she would take advantage of his wavering attention.

Several issues had sprung up, however. For one, it seemed that the cameras watching the Herbert family home had been turned off, rather than fed a loop, causing the PRT to perk up their ears. It also meant that he had _no idea_ what Tattletale and the new Trigger had talked about.

An error on his part, born from the same situation that he was trying to investigate.

In the other timeline, something even more strange had occurred. The PRT went on high alert, casting out nets and feelers, trying to find the girl in the few hours that he had her.

Alarmingly, they had gotten close at the end, with Dragon poking at his electronic systems as he ended the timeline.

Given Taylor’s state within(or outside of) the PRT, this caused Coil to have questions.

Questions that he gained no answers to, as his second, _stealthier_ timeline was cut short by an assault from unknown forces, who tore through everything he had in minutes.

That timeline ended when the door to his office exploded, killing him in the blast.

Coil had no idea what had happened, as he had gained no data from the intruders before his death. The best that he had come up with was that Kuzunoha had caught wind of his actions somehow and had taken offense to him. The Case 53 cape was very protective of her people and those she called her friends; and even with no evidence of having any contact with Annette in years, she still apparently followed her personal values enough to travel all the way to the Bay just to deal with him.

It was his own fault, really. Had Coil known about the tenuous link between Taylor and Kuzunoha (something he had only learned about after his base was torn apart and he dug a little deeper into the Heberts’ past), then he would have never grabbed her off the street; he would have arranged something even more subtle. But that was the benefit of having two timelines to choose from, Coil _always_ walked away with more information than he had at the start of it all.

Now, having picked the timeline where he’d only sent Tattletale (by default), the man waited, biding his time. With his power, he always had a second chance to try things. He would grab Taylor again, this time with systems and procedures in pla-

His personal phone ringing dislodged Coil from his thoughts. _Tattletale._

Good, now… how best to approach this…

“Good evening, Sarah. I was expecting your call.”

Simple, remind the girl that he knew about her, where she came from. And that he hel-

“How would you like to own a dragon?”

Coil blinked, then ended the other timeline. Simultaneously starting a new one, in which he ordered the men watching Lisa to grab her and bring her to the room downstairs in his base.

“By ‘dragon,’ I assume you mean Lung?” Coil asked, even as he listened to his men get ready to grab the girl in the other timeline.

“Correct,” Tattletale of the non-kidnapped timeline quipped. “See, when I went to the Hebert’s, I had an idea. You know how her father, Danny, has basically become the head of the DWA through the fact that most of the administrators of the organization have left at this point?”

Coil knew this, Danny was part of his long-term plans involving the city, though until the man’s daughter Triggered, that part of the plan was likely months (more likely years) down the road. As such, they had entered the field earlier than expected.

“Does this had to do with the reason that you were outside the Boardwalk area a few days ago?” Coil asks.

There were a few seconds where Tattletale paused, probably using her power to figure something out about his mood.

“Yes, actually, it was where I was talking to Lung about him going to the DWA for labor help in rebuilding his section of the city, help I was oh so graciously offering to assist with.”

By this time, his men had grabbed Lisa and were pulling her out of the building. Interestingly, Rachel Lindt moved to defend her ‘teammate,’ despite the friction between them, resulting in her getting shot.

Which was fine, really, Coil had no plans of keeping that timeline.

“I would ask you to consider what you just said and to whom, but given the fact that you’ve brought it up, I take it you’ve found something… interesting?”

“Well, _yes,_ ” Tattletale said with attitude. “Why else would I bring up what could be viewed as a betrayal to the man that could have me killed within a day?”

 _Oh, it would be much faster than that,_ Coil reflected.

“While I will admit that your recruitment was unorthodox, simply having you eliminated for taking some initiative would serve no purpose.”

“Coil please,” Tattletale scoffed. “If someone asked what we thought what each other’s respective endgame plans were and we honestly answered, neither of us would have to lie. But we both don't view each other as idiots. We both know that our… _arrangement_ , isn’t exactly a two-way street. But if I am going to work under you, then I at least want a comfortable life; I might have more freedom working with Lung, but we both know that unless I can get him to take you out in the same hour that I prove my loyalty to him, you’ll just have me killed, maybe even sooner than that. And I _like_ where my brain is currently located.”

All good points, even if Coil felt a spark of anger at how casually Tattletale brought it up. While it was a simple bit of logic, the flippant manner and her actions only served to remind Coil that at some point, he would have to either dispose of Tattletale or bind her to him in a manner that would ensure no chance of betrayal.

For now however…

“So then, what _interesting_ thing have you found?” asked Coil, refusing to acknowledge Tattletales words.

“Well,” started Tattletale. “As I was helping Lung track down the Farms- yes, I helped him, do you really think I wouldn’t help the angry Dragon when he demanded it and I was within charbroiling distance?- I began to wonder about a few things. Lung was willing to listen to my plan, but he never really seemed _interested_. He still understood the plan, but then I remembered something he said: Economics.”

“Now, Lung isn’t stupid, he has managed to consolidate all the Asian gangs in Brockton Bay into something resembling a coherent force, all while presenting himself as a far bigger headache to take out then he was worth. Then he sat down on his hoard, happy to stay on it as long as he was left alone. This being said, my plan does contain risks for the man, no one in the Bay is going to stand by and watch _Lung_ of all people fix things up, one way or another.”

“Yet while he _did_ show interest in my plan, one of the first things he brought up while asking questions was how it benefited _him_. One would think a man like Lung would understand why having legal businesses and the support of the people would be important; the Empire is a good example for that- as much as they could be called one, at least- and I didn’t think much of it at first, but as I ‘assisted’ Lung in finding the Farms, I began to think-”

“Who would be so foolish to keep the Farms running after Lung ordered them shut down?” Coil interrupted, though it was more of an attempt at fishing for more information than an express wish for said information. One thing he had learned about Tattletale and her power was that if you didn’t direct the conversation, then she could go on and on either until she got to the point or proved her ‘superior intellect.’

It was actually kind of useful really, there were times (like now), that it would cause the girl to speak more than she should, if only to prove that she was the smartest person in the room.

“Given they remained hidden for so long they were at least marginally successful at keeping hidden, but to run the risk in the first place?” Coil asked.

Coil hadn’t put much stock in the rumors of the Farms still being up, given that it was Lung that gave the order; finding out they were still running was a rather disturbing gap in his information network.

Lung had ordered the Farms stopped long ago, yet rumors of them still persisted for years due primarily to the fears from them, despite the fact that they were little more than brothels that focused more on the ‘service,’ rather than the ‘product.’ Even then most places were smart enough to know better than to grab anyone off the street, they tended to grab the desperate ones first. (Snagging people off the street had a tendency to bring down the heat, doubly so if someone of note was grabbed, even for a place like Brockton Bay).

“Bunch of kids and some guys on the edges of the ABB territory had a few places still running off-grid,” Tattletale stated offhandedly. “Some of them were taking deals under the table with the human trafficking rings and were profiting off of getting low prices from the Merchants for some of their product to help keep things in line. Ironically, there were a set located within the borders of the Empires territory; some of them were apparently… fans, of… Asian baby dolls.”

The tone of disgust in Tattletales's voice was really remarkable, and Coil understood the reasoning why. Interesting, Coil had not come across such information before. If he could find out who had visited such places, then it could be used to great effect via the old-fashion rumor mill.

Or as straight blackmail.

“ _Any_ way,” Tattletale continued after a few moments. “While Lung was busy taking down the last of the Farms, I began to think, on both his actions and his _re_ actions during my pitch; he was keeping pretty much everything but the Farms running, from the human trafficking to the drug running, so why would the man _really_ care about the Farms enough to take them down? He after all never really cared about anything that didn’t affect the ABB, but suddenly finding out that the Farms were still running sent him into a rage, why did he even _care?_ ”

Coil knew a possible reason for the Farms dismantlement; there were rumors that Lung had once been captured by the Yàngbǎn, perhaps getting a taste of slavery turned the man off of it, and it would fit in with some of the man’s actions. If there was something that he didn’t like and he could do something about it, _he would._

As for the other thing…

“This led to a bit of digging into the ABB businesses, quietly of course. What I found was…. interesting.”

“The reason Lung wasn’t all that interested in my plan, was because _he was already doing it._ ”

“… pardon?”

“That was kind of my reaction as well,” Tattletale admitted. “What he is doing isn’t as… comprehensive, as what I suggested, but the ABB actually _controls_ nearly sixty percent of Chinatown, ten percent of the Docks, _and_ is the actual owner of TriGen, the local transportation company that is one of the few groups that still moves things from the Docks. Hell, you know of Fortress Constructions? The Guild- and PRT-funded sub-contractor?”

Fortress Constructions had both a general contract with the Guild and PRT to assist when needed, as well as fought over smaller contracts in the cape business with other contractors. They had both diversified and specialized in everything cape related, with particular aims towards personal defense, fortified constructions (as the name suggested), as well as setting up defenses for containment zones and assisting in said containment zones with maintenance and support.

Coil knew this because he had purchased suits from them for the PRT strike teams he managed in his civilian identity. While not Tinker-Tech, what FC made was often better than what the PRT fielded normally.

“Yes, I have,” Coil replied, even as he began to dig into Tattletales words with his vast network. Such information… it was troubling because he should have spotted something like this; he had been working the long game for years now, this wasn’t something he could have _missed!_

“Well, Lung somehow has gotten a number of its stocks into ABB hands, which is an easy mil for a rainy day right there, at _least._ ”

“Tattletale,” Coil began sternly. “What you are talking about… if you are lying about it-“

“Check out the names and information about a chunk of Chinatown’s landowners,” Tattletale interrupted. “Then cross-reference it with arrest records from the last five years of ABB higher-ups. You find that each of them _should_ be in jail or prison, yet somehow are around and buying up locations then sitting on them until they get up and repaired/remodeled within two to three years. After that it goes into a shared ownership with the tennets, who wisely keep their mouths shut about the whole thing.”

With two timelines running, Coil was quick to gather the required information, though he purposely waited longer to reply; the only way that she could have gotten this information before him was if her power led her it, the same power that made her so valuable.

And dangerous.

Coil had no doubt that Tattletale had something on him, this was a given. The question was… how much? Her power was useful, but not irreplaceable. He would survive without Tattletale with ease (though things could be easier if he had her support, the Empire Project came to mind).

And while having her control the Undersides helped in keeping the gang where he wanted them, he had always planned to ‘bring them into the fold,’ at some point.

Perhaps a change in plans was in order, as it was _very clear_ that Tattletale had plans and agendas of her own. Maybe a friendly-fire incident?

“If I turned to Lung, he would never trust me,” Tattletale stated matter-of-factly, interrupting Coils' thoughts. “I would have already betrayed _you_ , so he would be watching me twice as much, and I doubt that I could easily set myself up to avoid having a boss in the first place; so, why not make myself more valuable to you for when you take over the city? Because it is rather obvious that’s what you’re trying to do. I would be fine with managing a district or something, rather than always looking over my shoulder for the bullet with my name on it.”

A rational decision, and one that Coil only _somewhat_ believed. Lisa wasn’t the type of girl to let herself get stuck in a trap; at some point, she would try something.

The questions were, what, when, and where?

However, Coil chose _not_ to address Tattletale's current predicament, instead choosing a different path.

“Well, I must thank you for bringing this to my attention Tattletale. I will forward you a bonus for this, as well as one for any more workable information on this matter. As for Taylor Hebert however… how receptive was she to you and your offer?”

“As well as could be expected,” replied Tattletale smoothly. “She played the part of a typical, scared fifteen-year-old girl. From what I can tell, she’s still traumatized from what happened at Winslow but is beginning to at least consider the Wards, if only to learn more about her power in a safe place and to avoid _another_ Winslow. Surprisingly, there has been little in the way of the PRT reaching out to her, and she was… receptive, to the information that I provided. To a point, at least; she didn’t like the fact that I both knew who she was and was inside her home, but she still paused to consider things.”

Coil processed the information; it matched the PRT Psych profile well enough, as well as his own views and opinions he’d extracted from the failed timelines involving Taylor.

As such, it was unlikely to be entirely truthful.

He would learn more in the other timeline; the circumstances involving Taylor, this new issue with Lung, Tattletale’s style of recruitment and her personality _and_ her power meant that Coil needed to take care, lest she find a way to undermine all that he had worked for.

While her explanation for _why_ she was taking the initiative was sound, that didn’t mean that Coil believed that there was all to it.

He _highly doubted_ that Tattletale was simply falling into line, and _knew_ that believing it for a second would invite betrayal.

“Thank you for your services, Tattletale, I’ll forward requests for any more insights into this ABB business. If there is nothing else of that nature?”

“No, but ther-“

“Then good day, Tattletale.”

Coil didn’t give the girl a chance to reply and hung up. It didn’t matter anyway, he’d soon be seeing her to make sure about a few things.

… perhaps he had gone too far, Coil reflected. Tattletale was a powerful resource, if not without her flaws. It would be hard to keep the Undersiders together without her steadying hands, but they were never supposed to be a long-term team in the first place.

Provided that they had succeeded, the Undersiders would either end up being another secret front of his underground movements, or rolled into his forces, both of which entirely depended on which of his plans bore fruit. And in the event of things falling apart, they would make great distractions for his escape, especially Tattletale and Bitch, both of which were possible problems that needed to be mitigated.

Tattletale was far too smart for her own good (as evidenced). Bitch would be far easier to control on paper, but her idiosyncrasies, stubborn nature, and aggression would mean walking a minefield of literal dogshit.

Making sure that there was nothing to trigger her would be annoying, but manageable, but the issue still remained of trying to avoid her issues just to keep her from lashing out like the animals she kept with her as she attempted to become an ‘alpha.’

Of the other two, Regent would just be a matter of giving him rewards for good work, while making sure that he understood where it was coming from. As for Grue, giving him a team of his own and making sure that his sister was taken care of would cover most things.

 _‘Though it would be wise to watch what happens when he realizes how much time she spends with Alec,’_ Coil mused. He didn’t quite know how Brian would act, it was difficult to gauge those type of emotional responses, even from someone like Brain Laborn (he could try to keep the pair apart, or even attack Alec, or he might just learn to deal with it).

The Undersiders were a foil to his own plans, useful in keeping things distant and separate from those that bothered to look. Sarah might have been integral in that plan, but she nor that set of events were irreplaceable, there was always another way.

In fact… after the next job, there was a very good chance that he could dispose of both Tattletale and Taylor Hebert, his limited tests with his power had shown that Dinah was a level of Precog far outside any that he had heard. When combined with his own power, it would allow him to operate much more freely.

And likely change what was going to be a years-long plan into a few months of hard work, provided that he had the right tools and chances.

In the end, it wouldn’t matter. Without Sarah manning the helm of the Undersiders, Coil knew that they would most likely fall apart, but he could find other ways to put them to use.

Trevor was young but more than willing to prove himself, and as a Tinker he was extremely valuable for the sheer depth that he brought into the picture, add that to the fact he wanted to provide for his mother and continue to Tinker, well, money was easy for Coil to come by.

Brian was less useful but could fit into certain situations and had a bit of a knack for leadership. Plus, with his sister’s legal situation and well-being to deal with, speaking nothing of the problems she’d caused with her power, Coil was certain that he could and would maintain a grip on him.

Rachel would be slightly more difficult to find a place for but could be molded into a powerful player, provided that she proved to be more valuable than her issues, else Coil would just place her in the path of the PRT for a distraction at some point.

And Alec… Coil wasn’t quite sure what to do with the young villain, as he could be useful with his powers, but ultimately his personality left a few things to be desired. Alec wouldn’t take any initiative unless it benefitted him in some way, and while Coil could arrange things for that purpose, he had no space or patience for freeloaders.

As usual with information gathering, everything was in flux: so far, what little Coil had uncovered through a basic check of Tattletale’s info had proven her correct, the ABB had been amassing power in secret for years, as a matter of public record no less!

Coil wondered how he missed this; he had moles and informants scattered among the gangs, the PRT, and city hall, yet had had no knowledge of this happening? Despite it directly affecting several of his possible plans?

Something for Coil of the first Timeline to look into, however, as the one in the second had a meeting to get to.

It was a leisurely trip through his (unfinished) base, a check with the patrols there, a confirmation of construction there, and a final check with the Quartermaster about the state of the current Tinker-Tech weapons and asking him to ready a report about the status of them.

_(all the while digging into the ABB’s history via his information network; did he miss this information because of the fact that it was done through legal actions? Or was it something else?)_

From there, it was to a set of rooms placed deeper within the facility, off the beaten path from everything else needed to keep the place running.

Here the walls were nothing but raw concrete, unsmoothed and adorned by exposed cables and wiring, fitting for a less used portion of the base. It was here that things like the plumbing and the air systems were serviced, as well as were a number of less important supplies were stored (i.e. spare metal, bags of concrete, other odds and ends).

Which made it the perfect place to have these rooms.

There was a single guard outside the door, as well as Pitter. A precaution, one that he doubted that he would need given the state of things.

Lisa was tied down to a chair when he entered, a raw, solid, concrete thing of a room, with a single drain in the middle of it, a set of blubs on two opposite walls, and nothing else besides a single rolling cabinet on one side.

There was little doubt to those in the room of its use.

_(‘Ah,’ Coil realized. The main gang that formed the backbone of the ABB had started this little landgrab project, via taking ownership of the businesses they controlled to better hide their movements; Lung just went along with it, but also partially gave them back to the owners? Why? To ensure loyalty? The man cared nothing about his people, just the image of power.)_

Tattletale was smiling when he entered, though Coil didn’t miss how her eyes flickered to the door, nor how it faltered when he closed it behind him.

“So… Coil, Boss, what seems to be the uh… problem? Because this seems kinda sudden and I know that we hadn’t, _haven’t,_ exactly seen eye to eye about some things, and I might have skimmed a few things off the top here and there-”

Coil ignored the girl and went straight for the only object in the room, the cabinet, within which were tools of both the surgical and household varieties.

All the while Lisa blabbed.

“- but come on, I don’t see how that justifies this. What will the others think? Hmm? Because I don’t think that Bitch enjoyed getting thrown across the room like that, even if all your men did was taze her and her dogs trying to get little old me.”

_(Coil drew up his considerable list of informants on his heavily encrypted computer, scanning through them in hopes of finding one that had either been in Brockton long enough to remember a time before the ABB, or one that was higher up in the ABB chain that would know about this years-old deal. Perhaps it was something else that Lung didn’t really know or care about?)_

The rattle of wheels were the only answer to Tattletale's words, as Coil dragged the cabinet over to stand beside the girl, whose eyes flickered from the masked villain, to the cabinet, and then back again.

Having disposable timelines was _beyond_ useful, as it allowed Coil the opportunity to do things that he never could under normal circumstances.

Like this one here.

“Now, Lisa,” Coil began, placing his arms behind his back. “I never wanted things to come to this, but your recent actions have forced my hands. But I do value all the work that you have done for me, so I’m going to give you a chance.”

“Why did you meet with Lung by the Boardwalk?”

Lisa half-chuckled, half-sighed. “That actually was what I was calling about, I found out some information about the ABB and Lung that I thought you would want to know about, and I just figured that, well…”

Coil hummed and began to walk about the chair and the captive in it. “I’m sure. But, taking such a move without telling me… those actions speak another story here; that level of initiative doesn’t speak very highly of trust, and given our… relationship, this calls into question what your plan _was._ Why did you even seek out Lung in the first place?”

“… I found out something involving the ABB and their holdings,” Lisa explained, following Coil as best she could with her eyes. “About how they were buying up land and buildings, using it to secretly gain control over the city.”

_(So, Tattletale had already known about what the ABB was doing before she met Lung? Interesting.)_

And concerning. The fact that Tattletale was about to find it when Coil himself knew nothing about it spoke of hidden plans, the type that Coil found worrying about.

It was one thing to have a plan or a bid for freedom (Coil expected it from Lisa at his point), it was another to have something like this; something that greatly affected his plans for the Bay? And then she just goes and tells him about it?

What was this girl planning?

“…Let’s say I believe you,” Coil stated, stopping in front of the young woman. “Then the issue I have becomes this.”

“You found something that I only had believed was simply the ABB gaining more control over their populace,” Coil explained. He also took the time to reach inside the cabinet, and to root around for several moments, before taking out a set of pliers.

“And you somehow found enough information on this to believe that either you or I can control Lung, the man that is known for fighting off an Endbringer and is called, _The Dragon_ for very good reason. Yet rather than hold onto this information- as I would expect you to do, given your situation here- you came to me with it. This _would_ paint the picture of a loyal follower seeking to gain approval, but we both know how things really work between us.”

“Therefore,” Coil began, reaching out with the pliers to grasp onto one of Lisa’s fingernails-

“You are lying to me about something, and I really don’t like that.”

-and then he pulled, _hard._

Coil observed the bloody fingernail in the pilers for a moment, ignoring Lisa’s pained gasps.

Torture was such a silly and nearly useless thing Coil reflected. It was entirely dependent upon you already _knowing_ what you wanted to learn, and simply confirming and getting the details of it from a human source via pain and threats.

Coil knew this because the fact was that once you started to use torture, you messed with the formula of information gathering: you influenced the very information you were seeking to get by limiting the choices of the subject. While it did greatly increase the chances of you getting what you needed from the subject, you also ran the risk of tainting the information through your own bias and having the subject agree just to get you to stop.

This was the reason that _good_ investigators always used it as the very last option. If one had the time and ability to look into other leads and paths, the amount of information that could be found and leveraged was far more useful than what you had to pry out of someone with pain; you could even end up using what you had to get someone to talk without laying a finger on them, bypassing the whole time and effort needed to perform torture.

Coil didn’t have those problems however, as having a separate timeline that was effectively nothing more than a dream or an idea meant that he could both torture someone to their deaths, while in a _separate_ timeline ruthlessly go through their lives to uncover everything about them.

Then he could go and use everything that had been assembled to craft the solution that he needed, and even try again as many times as he wanted to make sure that it all went the way he wanted it all to.

All the while keeping the timeline where he did nothing of the sort and just went about his day.

Like this one for example, a timeline that he was free to pry anything that Lisa was hiding out of her-

_(-while in the other he was hard at work digging into what she had provided, finding links and connections hidden in plain sight, unnoticed, unless someone knew where and how to look for it._

_It was ingenious, really, they had even gone as far as to use their bank accounts and old homes to further sell the ruse, which also ended up pulling the people and families that now lived in those homes into the deception. Which then would made perfect places for Coil to put pressure onto to get an inside man.)_

“Now then,” Coil of the second timeline began, while making no effort whatsoever to hide his slightly jolly tone as he clamped the pliers onto another of Lisa’s fingernails.

“Tell me, what _was_ your end goal of this? To put me against Lung? To make me overextend myself chasing down leads which you have full knowledge of?”

Lisa glared at him, eyes in pain but holding strong. This happened from time to time, where she would grow a spine of _steel_ for some reason.

She always was, and had been, so… _defiant,_ when it came to situations like this. Coil chalked it up to her power, mostly because it drove her to find more information, so she did in hopes of finding something that she could use against him, which likely made her hold out for that one piece of knowledge that would get her out of the mess she found herself in.

A pity that it never worked, even _without_ taking into account his power.

Still, Coil mused as he reached for another fingernail, it was never uninteresting pushing Lisa to the point that she would start to spill to what little secrets she had found out about and never bothered telling him, or how she planned to kill him to take over his little empire, even if it took a while.

 _‘No matter,’_ Coil thought. _‘It isn’t like I don’t have time.’_

And with that, Coil tugged on the na-

_“Oh, this old trick? Seems a little old school, huh, Scarecrow?”_

There, near a corner of the room, was… _himself._

He lacked a mask, only having the bodysuit and nothing else as it leaned casually against a wall.

Coil didn’t panic, despite the situation, he had the other timeline t-

 _(Coil reared back, his chair sidling backward from the figure sitting on his desk, cross-legged. And then it_ smiled. _)_

_(“Then again, that isn’t so old school in this here and now, right?”)_

_(It was reflexive to end the second timeline an)_ d reach for the gu-

Coil found himself in the hallway just outside his office, hand extended as if to reach for something, with no one around but himself.

A hand that turned into a fist as Coil channeled his fear and shock into _anger_.

Coil had gotten used to setbacks: everything seemed so simple when you could try and try and try again, but it would often take several attempts to change the situation to his liking. He always ran the risk of losing a window of opportunity by the simple fact that his power didn’t affect _time_ , five minutes in one timeline equaled five minutes in the other. When time passed and people and situations changed, he would lose that chance and have to wait for another one to show up.

It was something that he had learned to deal with, but this… this was _new_ , and frankly upsetting _._ Previously, when he would find errors in his timeline, it was more like the two were mixing what was happening (like how he found himself outside his office despite not leaving it in the timeline he’d chosen), but encountering an image of himself that interacted with him in both timelines…

There had been reports from the PRT about people encountering a vision of themselves after being exposed to Taylor Hebert’s power, but he had never been anywhere near Winslow or the girl.

_So how was he being affected?_

This… this _needed to be **corrected**._

Coil was not the type of man to give in to fear, he had spent _far_ too much time and effort to get where he was now, and he had far too many plans and goals to let what (so far) amounted to a few blips and a _ghost_ to derail him.

These _‘errors’_ may have been frightening to Coil: things were no longer in his control even with his power, but not bad enough that he would throw caution to the wind.

It was something that he needed to deal with, lest it became more than an annoyance, especially because it was simply a matter of time before an ‘error’ happened which did more damage than he could recover from.

So, what was causing the issue? The Tree?

No, he had no interactions with it of any form, not even in another timeline. A cape?

For what purpose? While there were all sorts of types out there, Coil _highly_ doubted that some unknown cape was the cause of this. Taylor?

She _was_ the best bet, but eliminating her didn’t guarantee a solution (one just had to look at the Grey Boy bubbles to see that), and he would have to find a way to do so that wouldn’t implicate him in any way, or run the risk of having a repeat of when he had grabbed her before.

It was with this in mind that Coil moved, walking swiftly into his office; given the information and his options, Coil saw only a few choices he could take, ranging from the most extreme and simple (to just take out Taylor and hope for the best), to something more mellow and his normally preferred choice (a systemic investigation of his subject and everything about them done over several timelines). However, given what was occurring, Coil wasn’t in the mood for the perfectly safe approach.

It was time for something a bit more _drastic._

… He would need to use his PRT contacts first, see what Piggot was doing with the girl. Emily was never the type to sit on something for long, Taylor had been enough of a bump in the grand scheme of things that she fell outside the normal parameters. What end-goals and plans that the PRT had for dealing Taylor would be important factors in what Coil could do.

After that, Coil just needed to see what he could do without drawing attention to himself. Killing Taylor would always be an option, but one that carried risks if not done properly. Shifting things around and leveraging some of his civilians ID’s power to address the subject of Taylor and what the PRT planned to do with her would net Coil more information.

From there, several plans and contingencies would be made, and Coil would adjust things as needed: if she went into the Wards, if she was tried for her (seemingly unaware) power usage, or if she was forced away due to other factors. And once he had a better picture of the situation, Coil woul-

The vision was back, sitting on his desk facing him as he walked in, kicking its legs to an unknown beat. Coil paused at the sight. It laughed at him, its voice echoing in the empty room.

“Sir?”

The Quartermaster stood behind him, a questioning look on his face and a set of papers in one hand. Coil realized that he had turned away from his vision and all but spun back to look for it.

It was gone, and there was no sign of it having ever been there in the first place.

Oh **_yes,_** this was something that would be _dealt with_ regardless of what it _really_ was. Removing Taylor from the field may not remove the effect (not to meant that she might not be the one causing it), but it would be a start, because it was the only lead he had at the moment and was something more believable than a new cape just showing up to mess with him.

This would require planning and experimenting. Finding the right patsy that could get the job done while also having no chance of being linked back to him would take a bit of time. There was also the PRT files on the other Winslow victims he could get, in order to ensure that it _was_ Taylor and not something else.

He also needed to check if this phenomenon was being experienced by others, as that could prove beneficial if leveraged. At least then Coil would get something _good_ out of being ‘stalked,’ and if the effect could be directed… then Taylor might have a purpose besides a bit of leverage.

But first, he needed to deal with the report from the Quartermaster. It would do no good for morale if he started to come off as a crazy person.

* * *

Tattletale flipped her phone shut with a _*click,*_ and then carefully set it down on the counter beside her laptop.

A glance around showed no one busting through the door or walls, no sign of increased surveillance (though that one would likely take a few days) or the sudden appearance of cops and capes.

Granted, that last one would just either end up being another ‘plan’ or a way to get rid of her via police (or cape) brutally but with the way Coil operated, Tattletale figured that he would have a convoluted plan in place for the very reason that it was convoluted. All the better to separate himself from it all.

Lisa didn’t really understand Coil sometimes, some of his plans and tasks seemed to end in dead-ends at times, and even with her power it was hard to unravel without taking a whole day just to connect the dots of _years_ of work.

But in the here and now? Lisa let loose a shaky breath in the empty loft; Brian was out, Alex was visiting Aisha again (Lisa was hoping that those two weren’t doing anything stupid, Brian was getting suspicious and she wasn’t going to cover for them if they got caught), and Bitch had stepped out to walk her dogs.

The perfect time to enact her plan.

Because _she_ knew that _he_ knew that she knew, and _because_ she knew that he knew that she knew, she knew that he would know that she knew, which would prevent either one of them acting out in any obvious way. The solution to that, Lisa had figured, was to _not_ act upon their shared knowledge, and instead roll the dice on something _completely_ _different,_ which relied upon something neither of them _really_ understood or knew about.

Which left her shaking from the adrenaline of dealing with Coil and hoping that he didn’t focus his questions, but instead would rely on his power to get more of what he needed.

However, that relied on both Coil's power having the limits that Lisa believed it did, and Coil lacking the information that she now had- which appeared to be the case.

But… given the fact that she was still sitting there, and there weren’t armed men busting down her door, meant that her plan worked.

And now onto phase two.

Lisa steadied her hands with another solid breath and _smiled_.

 _‘The ball is in the air Coil,’_ she thought as the smile took a sharp turn towards _menacing_ and hit enter on her laptop _._

_‘Let’s see if you can keep track of it.’_


	26. 3.6 Firewalker

_April 13 th_

_Despite my long legs, it was hard to keep up with Miss Militia. She strode quickly down the hall, forcing me nearly into a jog to keep up._

_“The current situation about the fair has been fully taken over by PRT investigators,” Miss Militia stated as we moved, her pistol clicking at her hip from her speed._

_“As you’ve already given your statement and been cleared by medical, it was decided that you should be sent home rather than keep you here, as we have no easy way to know who is a mole for Coil.”_

_…. Wait, what? They were sending me home? Just because they didn't want to keep me here?_

_Something must have been showing on my face because Miss Militia glanced at me and then continued._

_“I don’t like it either, but it isn’t my decision. If it was up to me, I would keep you in the building where we could protect you from Coil, but given the current state of the city, that particular issue has been set aside for now. Putting out a raging fire takes precedence over pest control.”_

_“Add this to the fact that Armsmaster is out of town and off the grid, and that several of our heroes are currently down or are in recovery when we need them the most, we simply can’t afford to lock you in a room and hope for the best, not to mention the legal issues of keeping you here without your guardians permission; keep in mind that we will check up on you as soon as the city stops being on fire.”_

_So… they were just, getting rid of me? Setting me aside, out of sight, out of mind? That my situations and my life wasn’t important?_

_Yes, I understood what was happening in the city because of the events at the fair; the Empire were their beating their chests over it, and the ABB was mobilizing in response while the Merchants were making a fuss over everything that was happening in what they viewed as their ‘territory.’_

_But to be told to leave? To be set aside because something bigger was happening? That didn’t make any sense._

_When we got to the elevator it opened instantly at the hero’s touch, and she all but pushed me inside of it._

_“It would best if you took a bus and headed straight home,” Miss Militia stated. “Most of the troopers have already headed out and the Empire is consolidating on their borders, but nothing is predicted to happen while everyone sizes each other up, so you should be fine.”_

_“And if I’m not?”_

_Miss Militia stared at me for a second, one hand tapping away at her gun. “Personally? I think you’ll be fine; we might not be making moves against Coil right now, but with how fast everything is moving outside this building, I doubt that he’ll be able to get to you unseen.”_

_“And if he does anyway? I was already nearly killed once today, and Tattletale told me that her boss really has it out for me now, and the only reason that I haven’t been grabbed yet was blind luck! Plus my dad is…”_

_Fine, I told myself, he was fine. In the hospital for now, but he would recover._

_Miss Militia reached out with a hand and grasped my shoulder gently. “The PRT keeps lines open in the underground for these types of reasons; some of the intel has been released about Coil and both his involvement at the fair, as well as some of the other situations over the last day, as well as some events prior. The hope is that cooler heads will prevail and see the long-term effects of a gang war in this city, and work on de-escalating before it happens. Even the Quill of the Temple here and his new assistant has been spotted on the streets, apparently hitting several of Coil’s hidden bases with Faultline’s crew backing them up.”_

_That didn’t really comfort me at all. One would think that given everything that had happened, the PRT would be keeping me in an interrogation room until this all blew over, not being set loose into the wild!_

_“I was also told to tell you that your clothes were wired with tracking bugs, if you get more than twenty feet from your phone, they’ll start sending a signal.”_

_… I was being used as bait. They needed all hands on deck to stop or fight in the upcoming gang war, and they were actually hoping that Coil did do something just so that they could get to him first._

_It was smart: from the sounds of things, he was the hidden mastermind that no one saw coming, and the PRT was hoping that everything that was happening would flush him out as he went after the one girl that seemingly fucked his plans over. I might not actually be doing anything, but if what Lisa said was true (and it was really looking like it was), then Coil would have no problem hunkering down and waiting this all out._

_But if I was still around to mess with his power…_

_Oh, what the fuck was the PRT thinking?_

_It would be child’s play for him to just send someone to my house and get me, and it wasn’t like I could just hole up somewhere: I would get spotted or be reported leaving the building, and from there Coil could just have me followed._

_“As I’ve said, I don’t like it,” Miss Militia continued, taking no heed of my troubling thoughts. “And I’ve brought it up to my superiors how this is foolishness at worst, recklessness at best. But I’m not the one that is in charge, and they’ve made it clear that this is the way it needs to be. I’m sorry, stay safe.”_

_When the doors closed on her retreating figure, I was left alone in the elevator, heading down to the ground floor, with only my very confused and unsettling thoughts to keep me company._

_Which made it a perfect time for a voice to laugh and echo around me._

“Hey Kiddo, having a bad time? How about some fun then?”

_The elevator shook, the lights went out, and I was thrown sideways of all things. I felt the G’s as it suddenly shot upwards, then slammed to a stop, throwing me to the floor._

_I managed not to hit my head, but my shoulder ached from where I hit it. The lights were out as well, so I couldn’t even see where I was other than feeling my way around._

_When the doors opened, the only thing I could think was ‘This isn’t the ground floor.’_

* * *

_March 30 th_

Fun fact: asking for updates about an investigation that has a major influence on your life via text, to quite possibly the world’s best Tinker? _Not a good idea._

It wasn’t that I was _bugging_ Dragon, it was just that… I had gotten a taste of what a normal life would feel like. And I did _not_ want it taken away from me.

In the end however, Dragon ended up sending me what amounted to three or four pages worth of texts, explaining things.

Because of my Rogue status, I couldn’t _exactly_ just walk into the PRT and have them protect me. And with Coil having fingers inside the PRT, that would have shown the PRT's hand about knowing about him.

Short of me leaving the city for a while or bunking up with the Wards or someone from the Protectorate, there was no guarantee that Coil wouldn’t be able to get to me. There was also Lisa, who would likely get killed as soon as Coil found out what she’d done. While she was very likely a villain, that didn’t mean the PRT was going to just let her be killed.

The PRT wanted to catch Coil, and Dragon had likened my situation to one of an undercover operative (though those guys usually had a choice in the matter).

Which meant that nothing had changed, and I was being used as _bait._

Sure, Dragon _had_ told me that I could run with my dad, or head into the PRT building anyway if I wanted to take my chances, but with the limited leads they had on Coil there was no guarantee that he would leave the city if he was discovered (they thought he might decide to lay low for a while and wait things out).

And even if _I_ left the city (with Dad, of course), that still left Lisa. Plus, Coil might be the grudge-carrying type, and still might hire someone to track me down to kill me out of spite.

Which all _sucked_ because I might have found some people that I could get along with, and there maybemightbeag _uythatwasinterestedinme?_

I took the teasing about Dennis from Amy with a grain of salt. At first. Because sure, I had lost some of my belly fat because of my running, and had gotten _a_ _little_ toned from it, but I was still the thin, tall, gawky teen that I was before.

But… he always said hi to me when I came to class, tried to include me in the conversations at the lunch table (even though I was just happy to be there). He engaged with me more, enough so that I was really confused about the whole thing.

On the one hand… I, I didn’t really _know_ actually. I had basically written off having a boyfriend at Winslow, and what had happened there really reinforced that feeling.

Now? Now I had no idea. Dennis seemed nice, if a bit heavy on the jokes with Tory (some good, some bad). It was something that I needed to think about. Eventually. Because I had no _fucking_ _idea_ what to do about it.

I almost wished that I was on better terms with everyone, because I had no idea how to ask any of them if Dennis was _really_ interested.

Nor did I know **_why._**

Dean was close to him, and while I felt like he would be honest and give good advice, this wasn’t exactly something I could go up and ask him about… was it?

Tory was a better bet, she was close to Dennis as well, if a bit distant to me at times. She reminded me of a cat actually, sitting with the group, but largely watching until something happened to catch her interest, then she would involve herself with the group; only to back off as it suited her.

Vicky was… nice, if a bit blusterous and stubborn. I would likely get teased for a bit, before she decided to drag me along for a shopping trip and advice (something she had already brought up once after making a comment on my clothes; Several of the others had shook their heads rapidly after that).

And as for Amy, the one that told me about it… I don’t actually know that much about Amy. She was like me, she kept to herself. Most of the time she either had her head in a book or just watched everything from the sidelines, staying close to her sister.

Her actions and mannerisms were… familiar, disturbingly so. It wasn’t exactly the same, but the way the group would talk around her like she wasn’t even there… it reminded me of _me,_ of how I acted back at Winslow.

She was closed off, like a passenger to the world. The only person that really could get her really out of her shell was her sister, and she was sometimes so full of herself that she never really seemed to notice what was happening (that wasn’t quite a dig at Vicky, the girl was honest and sincere but at times just acted so… immature).

It didn’t help that she seemed… content, to let Vicky drag her around all the time either, and the few times that the group pulled her along into something, she would always fall back into the background.

Maybe that was why I had approached her, almost confronting her about it. I had been _there_ after all, where no one really noticed you, where you were just part of the background.

Amy didn’t have it that bad, but… no one had ever stepped up for me and I didn’t want to be that type of person. The few glimpses that I’d seen of Amy was that she was a good person, quiet yet well-spoken, intelligent but not a know-it-all, while at the same time being someone that I could talk to and get along with.

And I’ll admit, all my years with Emma as more or less my sole friend had affected me; I viewed Amy as an easier person to get along with than everyone else, someone that I could talk to without having to worry about other things.

Dean was a guy, Vicky was… Vicky (and didn’t it make me feel weird to say that), Dennis was…. well, he was someone that I wanted to talk _about_ , and Tory could be intimidating with how fast she could think things through and keep track of stuff.

Amy was just… more normal.

It hadn’t quite gone the way I wanted it to, of course: finding out that you had a superpowered friend, her sister was part of a local public team, and you never connected the dots was… embarrassing.

But we got over it, even if I ended up scaring her a bit.

She had texted me a bit afterward, something I wasn’t accustomed to. I somewhat got used to it though, as it seemed that Amy was much better at talking and expressing herself through a message than face to face.

It wasn’t what Emma and I had shared but… it was a start.

It really was a strange thing, having… friends.

After two years of basically avoiding anyone and everyone when I wasn’t forced to, it was… nice, to hang out with people.

It was something I didn’t quite realize that I missed so much, I was so used to keeping my distance from everything that I had no idea how much I longed to be a part of something.

Granted, it wasn’t like I had suddenly become a social butterfly, but I often found myself interjecting myself into the current conversation of the table, asking for clarification about something that was being talked about. Sometimes I even kept up with the conversation or ended up pushing it elsewhere with my words; I even managed to get Amy into a few conversations about books or school subjects.

Turns out that, once you get her to loosen up, Amy Dalton is quite the conversationalist. The sheer range of books she’d read over the years outpaced mine, though like me had missed out on the last few years of new books because of life and growing up.

And she also was the closest thing that I could call a proper ‘friend.’ Because she apparently felt comfortable enough with me to subtly tease me about Dennis by dropping hints about the upcoming fair in the Docks, about how it would be great to go as a group so we could check it out, buy knickknacks, eat junk food and candy, explore the stalls, see what old books the city library was selling.

 _Apparently,_ they sometimes had a room or two set aside for _movie_ screenings.

It was kinda hard to miss the fact that she looked right at me when she said that last bit, nor how fast Dennis jumped on board, not with it with how fast he asked me if I wanted to check it out.

Which was something that I did want to do.

Years ago, when the fair first started, my mom ended up taking me alone, as dad had been swamped being one of the few DWA admins left that could keep things going. We only had a few visits before she died and me and dad ended up drifting apart.

Part of me wanted to see if I could get Dad to come, just me and him, maybe do a bit of family bonding.

Another part knew that this was the only time of year that the DWA had more than a hundred people working at once, and someone needed to make sure that all the paperwork is filed.

… I could manage with friends, right?

It could be something nice, to hang out with people outside of school; me and Amy could check out the books, I could ask Vicky about getting new clothes for me (as she kept pointing out that I was _bland_ ), chat with Tory and Dean, and keep an eye on Dennis to see if he was hitting on me or something.

Amy might have implied that Dennis was… that he… but it didn’t mean that he _was._

But that was ok, because even if _that_ didn’t pan out and it was just a misunderstanding, at least I would get a chance to get to know my friends better.

I could deal with that, because that was how life went. Normal life, at least. You chatted with people, you discovered things about them and yourself both good and bad, and you moved on with the next day.

You know, normal human things, the non-powers things. The very things that I had all but given up upon back at Winslow, but here it was within reach.

But things… things weren’t going to stay peachy forever, and I should have seen it coming.

A week. I had a week of something like happiness.

Before that, I was keeping my head down. I should have known better and _kept_ it down, rather than relax.

I didn’t notice at first, probably because I hadn’t recognized him. Mitch was one of those guys that circled around the Trio (hoping to score a date, no doubt), one of the ones that was managing to keep out of the gangs (as far as I could tell), and was doing well enough in school to end up making it to Arcadia.

It really should have happened sooner. I mean, pretty much the whole school knew of or had heard about me and the Trio.

I just wasn’t watching where I was going, and I bumped into him. We said our sorries and kept going. I noticed him doing a double-take out of the corner of my eye, but like a fool thought nothing of it.

Two classes later, I heard the whispers.

It was the type of thing you learned to pick out, after experiencing years of bullying like I had. It was a survival thing, to know that was being planned.

A few of the students in the hall were looking at me, and they turned away when I caught them.

“… stuck glue o…”

“…appened for we…”

“…t Winslow, ma…”

“…ink it was he…”

“…ybe, but the…”

It was bits and pieces, little hinds and snippets of conversations. But I was able to figure things out.

“…afe here?”

“…RT didn’t say anything…”

I had heard more things over the last few days, things that people had said when they thought I couldn’t hear them.

Fun fact: when you start looking over your shoulder all the time, you learn to filter things better. I wasn’t perfect at it, but being able to hear someone talking about helped me in avoiding whatever bad news was coming my way from the Trio.

“…ven’t heard anything new about it…”

“…he new kid in class said he didn’t know anything…”

“…ink she knows anything?”

There had been whispers of what happened at the school while I had been at Arcadia, but they were just that, whispers; most of it had just been people talking about something they heard on PHO, or rehashing something they had heard with friends.

This was different, this was directed, controlled.

Not everyone from Winslow ended up in Arcadia, but when you took into account the shifting of the other high schools for space, there was a fair bit of changeover.

No one had any proof of anything, but I wasn’t that much of an idiot. It wasn’t like the Trio had hidden the bullying from anyone but the teachers, someone from Winslow was bound to recognize me at some point.

Whether or not they were able to put two and two together was another thing.

Legally speaking, I was more or less in the clear, but public opinion was a different matter. But, if I didn’t do anything, then no one would be able to confirm anything, it would all be rumors and conjecture. I could deal with those, and time would erase suspicion from me.

It still bugged me though, because I really should have seen this coming. I thought that once I left Winslow, that it would leave _me_ , but really, spotting the kid that got bullied for two years, just a few months after the school got closed down because an ice tree had decided to take root there?

Surely the PRT saw this coming, right?

I was _known_ , as what was being done to me at the time. Add that to the rumors and what people knew about what happened at Winslow from those that were there and had _seen_ it, people could easily connect the dots.

Yeah, again, there was no _proof_ of anything, but that wouldn’t stop people from _talking_ about it, NDAs or not.

Strangely, that didn’t bother me as much as it should have, it was the _attention_ that was getting to me.

Back in Winslow, people never really addressed me outside of the classroom, even then it was only the other social outcasts that went further than the basic ‘what page was it?’ questions, so I was avoided most of the time.

Here, people were _paying attention_ to me.

A glance here, a look there; I was invisible in Winslow, people tended to look _past_ me or only gazed in my direction if I was subject to a prank, or if I happened to walk past them. But no one ever keep looking afterwards.

But here I could _feel_ their looks, brought on by the voices whispering about Winslow.

It was unsettling and surreal: _far_ too different than what I was used to, while simultaneously making me feel like I was back at Winslow.

I didn’t _like_ it. I was done with Winslow and everything that the school had put me through. I just wanted to live a _normal_ _life_ , no betrayals, no enemies in wait, no secret shadow following, no evil madman taking offense to my existence. I just wanted to go to school, maybe make a few friends, leave, and then get on with my adult life.

And yes, I knew that it was very unlikely that everything was going to go perfectly for me from here on out, but would it hurt the universe to stop treating me like I was a punching bag?

I didn’t want to have to start looking over my shoulder again, to find places where I could rest and eat in peace, to lose the few friends that I had, to have them turn against me.

The walls started to close in. The press of bodies became too much. Memories, of the type I want so hard to forget, dragged themselves back up again.

Emma, Sophia, the teachers’ apathy, the grind and weariness of always being on alert, how everyone looked the other way. The pushing, the stolen items, mom’s flute.

The Locker.

I didn’t quite bolt. Trying to run from the Trio had never worked out and trying here was bound to attract more attention from the few that either didn’t know, or didn’t care.

I was still moving fast enough that I nearly hit some girl with the bathroom door, however.

Mumbling an apology, and ignoring the huff in response, I stepped inside the bathroom.

The doors opened inward on the stalls, a good thing to know. The room was also far cleaner than anything at Winslow; the glass was all still in one piece, the walls lacked graffiti, and none of the sinks seemed broken.

All the doors were open, so I settled myself in front of one of the sinks, turned on the faucet and splashed water on my face.

Mr. Rieper had talked to me about panic attacks, I had had one while I was in therapy with him. He taught me a few things on how to get over them. Deep breathing, close my eyes, try to relax, those kinds of things. So I did them while looked at my reflection in the mirror.

It was harder than one would think, simply trying to relax made me tense up. Deep breathing was easy enough, the oth-

_“Hey Kiddo, having problems?”_

My breath escaped me in a rush, and I spun around.

Beside me, seating on a sink with its back to the glass, was my Double.

Its legs were kicking the air, bouncing back and forth as it gazed at me. Hunched over as it was, it had turned its head to gaze at me with those _eyes._

Cocking its head to one side, my Double continued in that eerie voice.

“ _How’ve you been Kiddo? Been enjoying school? I saw you made a few friends.”_

I turned away from it and its wide grin and black eyes and shut my own. Grasping the sink in front of me, I repeated the words I _needed_ to hear.

It wasn’t real. It wasn’t real. It. _Wasn’t. **Real**._ It was just a figment of my imagination, no one else could see it. It didn’t affect anything in the real world, so it couldn’t even hurt me, or do anything for that matter.

_“Ahh, that hurts Kiddo. You mad at me about something? Did you forget?”_

My eyes opened.

Black ones stared back at me from the mirror and my face was twisted into a grin.

Then _I_ spoke.

**_“You owe me."_ **

I threw myself back from the mirror with a gasp, one of my hands clipping the nearby sink as I backpedaled. Then I slipped.

Maybe it was water on the floor, maybe it was my balance. Whatever the reason, I felt my legs slide out from underneath me, and the whole room _twisted_.

My reflection vanished, as the wall in front of me rapidly shifted to become a floor. _‘This is going to hurt,’_ shot through my mind. I didn’t want it to hurt, cracking my head on a tiled bathroom was a great way to get attention, which _wasn’t what I wanted_.

I didn’t _want_ to stand out, I didn’t _want_ to be noticed. I just wanted to be-

There was a rush within me, I tasted White and Blue, smelt Electricity, heard Blood and Blade, and saw a Whispered Promise with my eyes.

The world spun, shifted, _altered_. Colors sharpened and simultaneously dulled and blended together with a faint haze. A swirl of blue-white light encircled around me, and everything slowed _down_.

I hit the floor with the same amount of force that someone might drop the last foot into their couch. The world around me snapped back into focus and a second later the swirl happened again, whooshing around me.

Then I curled into a ball and tried not to scream.

You know that feeling when your foot falls asleep? That pins and needles feeling that runs across the limb and how every time you move it, the whole area feels a _shooting Pain?_

I had that across _my entire body._

Breathing hurt, _blinking_ hurt. Every time I did something caused it to flare up again, from shuddering (from the pain), from hunching over (from the pain), even from trying to shut my eyes to block out the _Pain._

It _felt_ like hours, but it must have just a few minutes that I laid there, because I heard the bell ring for class.

_“You still alive down there Kiddo?”_

Ah _good_ , my Double was still around.

The pain began to recede, the throbbing fading with what felt like every breath. Soon, I was able to move again, to try and get myself off the floor.

My Double was watching the whole thing, seated on the sink I’d fallen away from.

I wobbled and stood, arms curled around my gut and hunched over as the echoes of pain twitched over me.

 _“What was that,”_ I breathed. _“What the_ fuck _was that?”_

Was that my power? I looked around, no ice tree, just a bathroom, yet…

There was something simmering under the surface of my skin, rumbling and _twisting_. In my gut, no… behind my heart? Behind me? … something else was there…. Hovering still yet rolling, waiting yet shifting.

Touching me, but not within grabbing distance.

It was like… a _well_.

“That was…” I trailed off as I lifted my hand. I couldn’t see anything different, and other than an _awareness_ , didn’t feel any different either.

So when the little wisps of white-blue smoke trails, dancing off my hand and through the air like some sort of water feature when I _stroked_ the well within me came as a shock.

They lasted only for a few moments, during which the pins and needles feeling rose up once more, this time centered on my hand. And it _hurt._

_“Did you think you would get it all for free? Power is never free, Kiddo. You’ve got to pay for it somehow, even if you don’t know how.”_

I looked up. My Double was still there, legs crossed at the ankle as it somehow managed to sit on the edge of the sink. I never liked to talk to my Double, because that made it more _real_.

Yet… the way it acted, the way it spoke… I was no longer so sure that it was imaginary. It acted in a way that suggested that it _saw_ things, that it _knew_ things that I had no businesses knowing. I had no proof though, as no one seemingly ever saw it but me.

Was my Double a cape with a really good Stranger power? If so, why pick me to haunt? Because a power like this would only work if the person that saw them didn’t talk about it, and I was able to do just that with my therapist. So it could have been, but then the other little things made that less likely.

Like its movement, the vanishing acts it did, how it just seemed to _know_ about things about me and stuff happening in the world, and how it would show up to catch me the most by surprise.

Because really, how would I know about the upheaval of the Canary trial? How I could I know the names of the new lawyers?

What about the name of the newest Sentinel ship to be launched (the _Shang 9_ )? Something that was kept secret from everyone because Sentinel hid their docks to avoid sabotage and cape attacks.

Or the destruction of Nur-Sultan by a Tinker who worked with digging equipment and might have been one of the Simurghs bombs given he was in Manila back in ’08? Of who I knew the name of?

These were the few things that made me think that it was something… _else._ And I had read enough books throughout my life to see some connections between what I was seeing and a few works of horror.

Which was, quite frankly, fucking _terrifying._

“You… you knew about this,” I asked my Double.

I was breaking a rule doing this, acknowledging it, but despite the risks and unknowns that it presented, it was the only thing I hadn’t tried yet with it.

Here’s hoping that I don’t end up trying to summon a tentacle-faced cosmic horror.

“About my power… Back in the hospital, you… you _knew_ , you _laughed_ when the PRT came to talk to me about what happened, and you _giggled_ when they mentioned the tree.”

Before Armsmaster had shown up to _really_ explain things, the PRT had sent a few officers to talk to me, to discuss the things that I needed to know. It was common sense stuff really, that I had undergone a Trigger Event, that it had happened in school, that the PRT were investigating it, plus a few extra things like the PRT offering to pay for therapy (so that I didn’t start going around and attacking people like other capes sometimes did).

It bizarrely reminded me of a parent-teacher meeting actually, a bunch of people talking about my life with dad sitting in, making plans for my future while giving me warnings about not making any hasty or foolish decisions.

Armsmaster had shown up later in the day to really explain things, and just as with the PRT guys, my Double was there, watching and making a few comments.

“What _are_ you?” I ask. “Because… because I don’t think you’re a cape, and I don’t think you are a figment of my imagination.”

My double laughed, teeth flashing as it rocked back and forth.

_“You think you’ll get answers that easy? That everything will just… fall into place?”_

It said, before zipping away and suddenly standing at the far end of the bathroom, hands behind its back and still grinning.

_“That’s not how the world works, Kiddo, you of all people should know that.”_

OK… so it wasn’t going to be that easy, sure, why not.

I lifted my hand back up and _pushed_ a **bit** of power through it, causing little wispy waves of energy to radiate from my hand. It didn’t hurt as bad as the last time, just a stinging feeling mostly.

This… was different than what I had expected. The PRT hadn’t really covered my power, mostly because they themselves didn’t know what it was. They had asked me to do some powers testing, but it was something they mentioned in passing.

There were bigger issues that needed to be addressed at the time.

I did have plans to go in for it, _eventually_ (or end up waiting for the PRT to make me do it), but with what had just happened…

I didn’t make any ice, so, did I have several types of power? Like grab-bag or Trump type cape? Was the ice something else I could do, other than this whole… ripple thing?

Just what was it that I could _do?_

… I realized that I needed to go to the PRT about this, and not just because I myself wanted to know what was going on.

I didn’t know how my powers _worked_. Sure, I had no plans on never using them, nor did I ever want them, and while my stance of burying my head in the sand made sense in the context of never wanting anything to do with my powers (which I was still standing strong on, even now), but unless I was missing something…

This wasn’t _ice._

The PRT wasn’t going to just _never_ check my power, that would just be idiotic, and if my power didn’t have anything to do with ice…

Then what made the tree?

… I needed to find out, because if I wasn’t the reason for the tree in the first place, then it wasn’t my fault. But to know for sure I would need to actually use my power, fully and consciously, not just reflexively. Trouble was, if I was wrong, then a new ice tree could be formed, and I had no idea if I had any control over that.

So, I needed to get the PRT to test my power.

Which would actually work out for the both of us, the PRT would understand my power and (hopefully) stop worrying about me, and I get find out that I (hopefully) wasn’t the one that destroyed Winslow.

I just needed to get a message to the PRT to ask about the testing, and soon. Because…

There was a chance that Winslow _wasn’t my fault_.

Yeah, there was also the chance that I hadn’t used my power fully and that I needed a few minutes to charge up before I went all… what would be the best word for a rapid growth of a tree or plant?

Either way, getting power tested would help in the long run, because I while I had no intention of using my power now, a few years down the line I might find myself thinking differently, because I had a _superpower._ Never mind how I got it, I had something that was a dream to damn nearly every kid at some point; everyone had once imagined being Alexandria, Legend, or Eidolon when they had been younger, and I was no exception.

Could I see myself going out and fighting crime? No. Being one of the minor heroes like Slacks or Red Twist over in the outskirts of the Bay? Yes.

Outside the big gangs and the PRT, there were around thirty capes that were classified as Rogues, and most of them were only seen in certain parts of the city or were barely seen at all.

Some like Parian provided jobs or services, others were little more than people in masks and jackets that showed up to help out when things got bad.

I could be one of those people. While my power might be stronger than most of theirs, there was no rule that said that I had to join a group.

Other than the fact that if I didn’t I would be open to ‘recruitment’ by the gangs. But if I signed up with the PRT, I was almost guaranteed to be using my power to fight.

… on the other hand though, I would get introduced to the Wards, another group of people that I could become friends with if things went right. And that filled me with equal parts wariness and something like curiosity.

So far, the people I’d met and were starting to get to know were good people, and I was enjoying being with them, but it was the Wards and the PRT that had let Sophia get away with bullying me, so there was also that.

I knew that the Wards were unlikely to be responsible for Sophia, but if she acted anything like how she did at Winslow, why the hell didn’t they speak up?

_“You’ve been kinda quiet Kiddo, not thinking too hard are you?”_

I flinched, but stood my ground and faced my Double, who just laughed that echoey laugh of his.

“… don’t suppose you’d be helpful and explain anything that is happening to me?” I ask hesitantly. “Like how _I_ owe _you_. For what? I don’t _know_ you.”

Yes, my Double did scare the shit out of me (for several reasons), but there was only so long that you could try to not pay attention to something right in front of you before it just got stupid.

Plus, if it was part of my power? Going to the PRT for testing would mean that I could get rid of it, or at least learn to control it.

But if anything, my Double smiled even wider at my question.

_“But we’re friends Kiddo, even if you’re stilling running from your past.”_

“You and I are _not_ friends.”

_“Oh sure we are Kiddo, I’ll be right there when you decide to face your past, just as I’ll be right there when you face your future. Isn’t that what friends do after all? Or the good ones at least, the ones that are there for you when you need it the most.”_

While he wasn’t wrong, I wasn’t in the mood for games, so I spoke over my shoulder as I began to walk away.

“That doesn’t mean we’re _friends._ If you wanted to back up those words then you would bother to explain a few things.”

_“But what would be the fun in that?”_

Asked my Double as it warped to each sink to follow me.

_“Where would this story go if everything was handed to you? How would this play progress if the ending was known?”_

Well, so much for that plan. Now, I saw three choices for how I could deal with this:

One, I ignored it, and dealt with having a voice in my ear at times. Two, I would go the way of Alice, only instead of traveling down the rabbit hole to Wonderland, I could instead end up in Innsmouth.

And then there was the third option: finding out that it was a part of my power that I could turn off, or was a cape that had picked the school-destroying girl to mess with after my powers testing (and a bit of experience using said power to figure out which was it).

Obviously, I didn’t want to go insane, and the while the PRT did bear some responsibility for this whole situation, given they covered most of North America, was made of humans that could and did make mistakes, and had been doing… _ok,_ for over a decade allowed me to give them some benefit of the doubt as to not be _incompetent_.

Talks with Dad had helped with me dealing with Winslow, and despite our combined justifiable rage at it all, getting angry at the organization that had no good reason _not_ to just throw the book at me for what happened, and gave us a fair deal (instead of just strong-arming us), while being known as the people that often would step up and fight people like the Nine, the Elite, the Endbringers, wasn't really a good thing, after all.

I paused by the bathroom door. “My _life_ isn’t some _play_ for you to _watch_.”

_“All of life is a play.”_

My Double replied.

_“Everyone, an actor, step in step, a plan shaped by their actions shaped by the actions of others. You are no different Kiddo. What do you think will happen if you choose to tuck your head down or raise it up, that the story will change? The only thing that will change is the details, Kiddo.”_

“So what, everything is predestined then?” I ask, turning to face my Double. “That nothing matters in the end because other people make the fates we choose?”

I should be doing this, talking to _It,_ but I was just…

_“A play, a story, a tale, a life; each has a middle, each has an end, and each has a beginning, but the order always changes. Different, but all the same.”_

Now It was just being obtuse and philosophical, two things I didn’t need.

“… and if I don’t want to play the game?”

_“Everything is already in play Kiddo, all the pieces are in motion. Question is, are you going to try and change it? Or just run away like you’ve been doing?”_

“I haven’t been running away from _anything._ ”

_“We both know that isn’t true Kiddo, even now you’re still running.”_

“What is that even supposed to _mean?!_ ” I exclaim. “What, are you talking about my power? About Winslow? Well one of those I’m stuck with, but the other I don’t want to be a part of anymore, so sure, I am leaving that part behind me and moving quickly. Was I supposed to just do what had already been doing, just accepting what was happening and round over for it?”

“What if I’m tired of it!?!” I ask. “I tried to leave things be, to let things go and just keep my head down and it. Didn’t. _Work._ ”

“For two years I was bullied by my best friend, targeted, _humiliated_ , and I still don’t really know why! I didn’t react to them because I didn’t understand _why me?_ I thought that they would get bored and leave me alone, but they _didn’t_. I thought that if I didn’t give them what they wanted they would stop. Instead it. Kept. _Happening!_ I waited for the teachers to do something and they _didn’t_. I waited for my dad to wake up and notice something was wrong and he _didn’t_. And I waited for them to get tired of me not reacting and they _didn’t_.”

“This entire time, I’ve been putting my live in someone else control, waiting for them to do something to help me, and _nothing changed!_ ” I screamed.

Power burst off of me in a _thummmbp!_ And little wisps of blue-white light raced into the air to dissipate around me.

The stalls rattled, the mirrors shook in their frames, warping the reflection of the room for several moments until they settled.

My Double was unmoved as I breathed heavily, and I glared at it for still having that _damn smile._

“So I’m done with it,” I hiss. “I can’t… I won’t…” I inhaled deeply, then exhaled slowly.

“I put my life in so many other people’s hands because I could do anything,” I state. “Expecting things to... What? Get better? For them to _help_ me? For things to change for the better without me doing _anything?_ But it didn’t work, that would never work, would it?” I ask my Double.

It stays quiet, despite all the talking it had done before, all while still retaining its smile.

“Yes, I am afraid,” I continue. “But fear, is an _artificial condition._ It is brought on by outside forces. I. Am… _Afraid…_ but that doesn’t mean that the fear will _control_ me, nor will I let it anymore.”

“I don’t know if you are some cape getting his or her kicks out of watching me, or if you are just a figment of my imagination, but I do know unless I do something about myself and my situation, nothing is going to get better. _It won’t_. I can’t just sit back and let the world control me, I _… I_ have to be the one that betters my life,” I finish in a whisper.

And that meant going to the PRT about testing, and very likely saying yes to joining the Wards. If my power wasn’t the thing that destroyed Winslow then I would be… ok, and I would fight moving if it turned out otherwise and they roped me into it, same as if I had the option to still be a Rogue I would take it. But if they really fought for me to join the Wards…

Then I would learn to deal with it and be happy, no one got everything they ever wanted, after all.

Sure, it was placing my hands in another’s once more, but that was unavoidable unless I vanished to some remote land where my nearest neighbor was miles away.

“… So **_fuck_** your enigmatic words and talk of fate, I don’t really care right now, I’m going with something my mom once told me; don’t look too far ahead, just solve the next problem, then the next, then the next. Eventually you’ll either run out of problems, or one of them will kill you. In either case, a solution.”

“So you think I’m running? Fine, I am. I’m running towards my future, towards a life that doesn’t involve fear and anxiety everyone, one that doesn’t have me constantly looking over my shoulder, or worrying about what someone has cooked up for me next. And if that life involves me putting on a costume and marching out with a smile in front of a camera for a year or two, then I’ll take it, it would still be better than what I had before”

_“I thought you wanted to be normal Kiddo?”_

“… Yeah, I do,” I say. “But that’s not really an option, is it? This is kinda my reality now, and it _sucks,_ but it’s something that I’m going to have to work and deal with, ‘cause it isn’t changing anytime soon. And if it’s going to happen anyway like you suggest, fine, but I’ll make it happen on _my_ terms.”

_“But isn’t that what got you in this mess Kiddo? You picked a path, a choice, and made yourself into prey. And then were hunted.”_

… Winslow was something that I regretted, the whole business with Emma, the school, Dad.

There were dozens of things that I could have done differently, actions that I could have taken that would have changed things.

And I didn’t do any of them, instead, I bowed my head and tried waiting it out, hoping that things would move on.

But I knew better now.

Life… it wasn’t easy, or fair, but that didn’t mean you should roll over for it. I wasn’t going to repeat my old mistakes, I wasn’t going to let myself wallow or let others shove me around anymore.

And I wouldn’t sink to their level either, I wouldn’t become like them to fight back, I’d seen what happened when you tried that at Winslow; it never ended well.

So I ignored my Double, and instead set my sights on something that I could actually _do._

_“Looks like you’re finally shaping up Kiddo, have a plan for the road ahead? Or are you just going to wing it and hope for the best?”_

…. There was something of a mountain ahead of me; the PRT, my new friends, school, my power, and I couldn’t see the trail for it all.

Things were going to be hard; join the Wards or not? Use my power to fight crime? Or be a small-time player in the background? College? Like my mom wanted? Would I even end up staying in Brockton Bay? Would these new friends of mine end up being lasting ones? Or would I gravitate to new ones before the year was out?

So many questions, and there were likely even more that I couldn’t think of.

It was intimidating, to have to start seriously thinking about your life and where you wanted, or even could, go with it. All the paths and what can be’s, my options for everything and the unknown ways they would change.

But I did remember a quote, one of the ones that mom would use whenever I would complain about something, about how hard it was and how it never seemed to just be _over._

“The journey of a thousand miles…”

I pushed open the bathroom door, and I didn’t look back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Something that I realized when I was writing this, Taylor is bit of a go getter isn’t she?
> 
> I mean, even discarding everything Fandom, when Canon Taylor decides to do something, she does it.
> 
> Cape life, fighting Lung, the Bank Job, becoming a gang leader, fighting the Nine, giving herself up to the PRT, and everything else, all pretty much are things that Taylor just goes for (even if she wasn’t aiming for that in the first place).
> 
> Considering what her life was like and what she gained from this personality trait it makes sense, and was the very thing that helped me figure this whole chapter out and how Taylor was able to bounce back from what she experienced, because I really had no idea how I was going to handle that transition smoothly (lest I left Taylor in the Semi-Broken state that she was in after Winslow).
> 
> This also has a bit of a hint of what I really see Wally as, and with Taylor being smackdab in the middle of several events about to converge, that makes her… interesting.  
> And you really don’t want to be the sole object of Wallys attention, Rell can attest to that. 
> 
> So, I've posted everything I have here, and I'll check back later to see if I missed anything that needs to be removed or edited, probably around when I post next or when I update everything else to the newest versions.
> 
> Let me know if I screwed something up in the formatting.  
> Edit: oops, forgot this one.


	27. 3.7 Firewalker

_April 16 th_

_The edge of the roof impacted into my gut, and I scrambled to pull myself over as the corner of the ledge dug into the spot right under my ribs, legs dangling and struggling to get traction on the side of the wall._

_All the rain wasn’t helping._

_I managed to shift my weight enough to throw my upper body over the edge, and I fell onto the roof proper in a tangle. Right into a puddle deep enough that it covered my flailing hands when I pushed down._

_Water splashed around me from the pouring rain as I sputtered upright; the old roof of this random Docks building apparently wasn’t able to cope with the downpour._

“You know, this always happens, in some shape or from Kiddo.”

 _My double was there, the rain still seemingly not hitting it nor passing through it, even as it lounged on the edge of the opposite side of roof, watching me with that_ Grin.

“Well, almost always. There are exceptions out there.”

_In the distance, a call of “Wave!” echoed over the rain, and I saw dozens of lights manifest a few streets over. Shields, from capes._

_A wall of water surged, breaking over smaller buildings and washing over the shields. Further out, towards the Boardwalk, a titanic figure emerged from the sea._

“So, I know the whole song and dance, and so do they.”

_Continued my Double. I found myself walking forward, clothes drenched, glasses cracked from some point during my run, towards the ledge were my Double was, just to look out at the assembled capes along the beach-side buildings._

“The question is however, in this next…”

_It laughed, a sound that I would think to hear in a place like this._

_Many were positioned on the buildings, others in the streets hidden behind shields or Brutes as the wave slacked and rushed away. Some broke off to help others, or to gather together to prepare for the last time as the waters stabilized._

“… Chapter of your life, what are you going to write? How is this next part going to go?”

“What are you going to do?”

_The lines shifted, separating from behind their defenses as the figure strode forwards, poking at the remnants of the Boardwalk with claw and tail as it did so, uncaring of the destruction that it had wrought._

_Calls went out, a plan acted upon. Capes teamed up in waiting and watching as the figure took notice of the people standing before it._

_And crouched._

“I wonder what they think about this, if they are expecting this, waiting for it.”

_The capes readied, final shouts echoed over the water, and several rushed forward as an vanguard. Alexandria at the front as a black blur. Despite what had happened between us, I still found myself hoping that she would win this time, that a miracle would occur._

_For it was my city on the line now._

“Will you disappoint, Kiddo?”

_The figure rushed forwards, a trail of water echoing behind it. Several capes did the same, with others opening fire._

_And I watched._

“Or will you…”

“Awaken?”

* * *

_March 30 th_

I couldn’t use my phone in Arcadia, so I had to wait until school was out to send a message to Dragon about me wanting to do a powers testing session, and to see if she could arrange one with the PRT.

It wasn’t that big of a deal, the experience in the bathroom had… hardened me. I was just… done with it all, and I wanted control over my life again.

So that meant facing my fears, that meant understanding my powers and what they could do.

The fact that within ten minutes I got a text message from Dragon saying that Armsmaster would be in touch was disconcerting, however. Of which he was… within a minute.

The text in question asked me if I would be willing to schedule the testing sometime soon, but I managed to push _those_ butterflies aside on the basis that I had _Armsmaster’s_ number (Something that sent me for a loop, because I only had three numbers at this point and one was for my dad’s office).

My power had destroyed Winslow. It was only the fact that the PRT were somewhat responsible and that I hadn’t wanted anything to do with the cape life that gave me what little reprieve I had.

I told him that I was free after school or the weekend, and he replied that he would arrange things on his end, as well as the fact that it would likely take a few hours for all the testing to be done so I should be rested and ready for it as well as be prepared to preform various actions and to be ready with questions of my own.

And that was ok, because then I might be able to bring up that fact that I didn’t really need to eat or sleep anymore, aside from when I pushed myself further than last time I went running.

Trouble was, less than an hour later I got another message, asking me if I was willing to come into the PRT _today_ and _now_.

Part of me understood why, the PRT had nothing on my power but… they had been patient so far, why the suddenness?

This made me hesitate.

Fun fact: it was one thing to plan for something, and a whole other to suddenly realize that what you were planning was _happening_ , and I’m ashamed to admit that I waited until I was home and was whipping up a simple dinner for Dad and me before I replied.

My text back had explained that it was a school night and that I didn’t feel that it was a good idea, wanting rest to avoid any mishaps. Armsmaster replied with an understanding text, asking me if tomorrow would work better.

After school was fine, as it would be easy to catch a bus downtown straight from school; I knew several new routes thanks to my trips to Arcadia.

I was procrastinating, because yes, I could have easily ran over to the PRT building and just gotten everything done, but in addition to just feeling a bubble of anxiety in my gut about actually going and _doing_ the testing, the fact was… I was just being petty.

The PRT had tried to subtly string me along back in our first real meeting, the one that Armsmaster had stepped in on; it hadn’t been anything legally binding, but they had implied several things that would have pushed things more in their favor, and for that I wanted things to be on _my_ terms when I next went to them.

Or at least as much ‘on my terms’ as I could get; joining the Wards was basically me signing away my hero identity (even if it was only for a few years), so it would limit my freedom in how my power got used and I would get pressured into staying with the Protectorate when I got out of the Wards.

But I didn’t need to sign anything that was placed in front of me, and I was sure that with my dad backing me up I could get a good deal from the PRT when that happened.

So I texted 'yes' to Armsmaster as I was making dinner, and left it at that.

Fifteen minutes later however, Armsmaster asked if I was willing to skip school, as the PRT would cover things for me if I did.

Which was about the time that Dad ended up coming home from work.

Dinner was frozen ravioli with canned sauce and a bagged salad. Something I could throw together with else, which I had lots of experience with.

I really wanted to talk to him about the testing, to get him to come and be with me for it (I was scared, but hiding it pretty well). We chatted about our days, with him asking me more about my new friends at school, whether I was enjoying it, and how I was doing in class. In exchange I asked about how the DWA was doing.

There had been an influx of job requests from both the city and private for various jobs, ranging for both workers and specialists, things that my dad could supply either via the DWA, or by serving as the middleman by using all the contacts the DWA had gathered over the years, bouncing them to people that could do the work.

Part of this likely had to do with the upcoming Brockton Bay Fair; the festival that was pretty much just a leftover from the influx of hope that happened in the city after Tāwhirimātea passed over. Things hadn’t gone the way people wanted, and the city only had a few months of everything looking up before reality came crashing back, but the fair remained.

Mostly.

They had changed the date as to avoid having anything interfere with the fall/winter holidays (as well as to avoid making it look like we were thankful that Tāwhirimātea showed up, or were worshiping her), and held it in one of the Docks warehouses, one of the few that had been repaired before it had all came crashing down again.

But Lisa’s words shot through my mind upon hearing this; was this what the plan was? Make my dad become bound to contacts and complicit in whatever crime Coil had planned? Or was it just coincidence and had nothing to do with Coil?

There were several moments where I very nearly just spilled everything to him… yet, he was _happy,_ and _I_ was happy that he was happy. Hell, I even realized that I _was_ _happy_.

I had people that I called friends, there was a guy that may have been interested in me (don’tpanicoverthatortrytounderstandhowandohgodwhatifdadfindsoutthethingsI’veheardaboutthistypeofthing), and I met someone that I maybe could talk about powers with.

So, I didn’t tell Dad about what I was going to do tomorrow, about how I was going to face my fear. I didn’t want him to worry, I wanted to take care of this myself, if only to prove that I _could_.

No matter how much I wanted to have him there holding my hand.

* * *

There was a weight in my gut as I walked out the front door the next day, heavy and very present. There was a chance that this could go all wrong, and I wouldn’t get the answers and results that I wanted- _needed._

But I had to go through with this, I didn’t want to walk through life having this specter of fear hanging over me. I wanted control _back_ over myself and my actions.

So, I steeled myself and straightened my back to walk with my head held high.

And instantly had to stretch to pop my back and neck.

How long had it been since I had _really_ stood up straight with my shoulders back? I felt like I had just spent the last _week_ on the couch watching movies with Emma.

… or maybe it was the fact that I had curled into a ball during the night and had slept in for a few hours, as the tested had been scheduled for ten and I hadn’t wanted to get up for fear that Dad would see me and wonder what was going on.

But after he left I relaxed, and lazily (and not in procrastination) got ready for the day.

‘Course, with it being a school day, I knew that I would be getting a few looks if I just walked out into the city at this time of day. Not many would care, but when I walked into the PRT building, _someone_ would notice. And I didn’t really want that, even if there was a cover for me.

But I had a plan.

If there was anything good about my height, it was that I could easily disguise myself as an adult with the right clothes. I ditched my more casual clothes and went with a more professional looking jacket, an old birthday gift from dad.

From within the downstairs closet I also dug out dad’s old messenger bag from back when the DWA was still going strong, during the days that he needed to bring home paperwork.

The holders for the strap didn’t want to move and it was covered in a layer of dust, but it was still in one piece. I used it to hold onto a notepad, a few pens, a water bottle, and a pair of snack bars, things I figured I could/would use later.

The final thing was something that I dreaded doing. One of the things that had always made me look younger was my hair, and I never wanted to do anything to it because it was some of the few things that still linked me to mom.

But standing in front of the mirror by our door, I knew that I had to do something with it.

I had an old scrunchie on hand, from the long-ago days of Emma coming over, and pulled my hair into a messy ponytail with it.

And just like that, I aged a few years. I still looked like a young woman, but more of the college variety rather than the high school. Though I didn’t _feel_ it, I still felt like a kid playing dress up, but I still looked different enough that I didn’t see myself.

(and sure, maybe this didn’t matter a single bit, but how else was I going to convince myself that I had the confidence to do this?)

Nobody gave me a second glance when I got on the bus, nor during the trip downtown. In fact, I made it all the way to the PRT building until I screwed up something.

It was only saying my name backwards when they asked why I was there, rather than what I needed, but I recovered even as I felt my face heat up.

Unlike last time, I had to wait in a chair for a short time, alongside a number of other people who were also at the PRT building for some reason or another.

Like last time, a trooper escorted me up the elevator. _Un_ like last time, I didn’t get all the way to a room, instead we got intercepted by Armsmaster before we got halfway there.

“Thank you, I’ll take it from here,” stated Armsmaster stated as he walked towards us.

The PRT trooper nodded and walked away, leaving the pair of us alone for the moment.

The blue-armored hero nodded at me. “Miss Hebert, I trust that you are well rested.”

“Yep,” I quipped. “Got plenty.”

(I didn’t really, it was hard for me to get to sleep and I woke up at my normal time to go out and go jogging, but stayed in my room to avoid dad)

“Did you decide not to include your father?”

“… he had work.”

For a moment, Armsmaster just looked at me, like he was trying to figure me out. Then he sighed.

“Then I feel that I have to tell you that while we can continue the testing, there are certain things that you, and we, will not be able to do without his or a guardian’s consent. And there will be paperwork for you to sign before we can begin. Minor things about the tests and your consent in them I assure you.”

“But I can still do the testing?”

“Yes, we can still move forward with that.”

I was fine with all of that, and if something came up that needed Dad… then I would bring him in on it. But I _needed_ to do this, for my mental health if anything.

Dad would understand.

“Ok.”

Armsmaster nodded but seemed reserved. “Very well then, if you are ready, please follow me.”

With that, Armsmaster turned around that took us back to the elevator.

“We’ll have to head to an off-site location to do your tested,” he explained as he walked. “While the building does have a testing center, given what we’d seen so far about your power it was decided that your testing will be done elsewhere.”

Well that made sense, it would look rather bad for the PRT if their HQ suddenly had ice exploding out of it after all.

“… actually, I… I used my power a bit the other day. There was no ice,” I finished quickly at Armsmaster alarmed look. “It was… I went invisible.”

Armsmaster stared at me for several moments while we waited for the elevator.

“Can you replicate this?”

“I…” could I? I hadn’t exactly _tried_ after all, but that was the point of this testing…

“Yes,” I told him, being sure to make eye contact. “I can.”

Armsmaster went quiet again, this time long enough that the elevator showed up and I started to get concerned.

… was he speaking to someone?

He must have been, because a few seconds later he stated “Understood,” before looking at me.

“Did you uncover anything else about your power?”

Other than the fact that I might currently be followed by an unknown cape or might be having a mental break associated with either my power or repressed feelings of Winslow?

Armsmaster stared at me as the elevator doors opened, then shut again a few moments later.

“… I said that part out loud, didn’t I?”

“Unfortunately, yes” Armsmaster said slowly, and I didn’t know if he was talking about what I had said, or what I had asked.

“We will be limited on what we can do about that,” Armsmaster explains. “Powers are hardly understood at the best of times and trying to unravel if you have a Stranger or Master effect may be difficult, the same goes for if an unknown cape is following you. The fact is that based upon what we’ve seen about powers, nearly _anything_ seems possible, which makes having a full grasp of them and confirming everything… difficult.”

“Testing can only do so much, and there might be things that we have no idea about, or no way to actually _test_ ; there is a good chance that you have to adapt to some new things in your life.”

Armsmaster looks pained to have to say that, which I viewed as a bad thing for me.

“The best we might be able to manage will be to have Thinkers take a look, but if your power is, at best, an Anti-Thinker ability, that might have dangerous consequences. To say nothing of it if it has larger capabilities.”

Like if my power affected dozens of people with no way to turn it off. Many would think they went insane, and there was a very good chance that they would never be able to live normal lives afterwards.

“… this isn’t common, is it?”

Armsmaster sighed and glanced at the elevator, pushing the button for it once more.

“… it isn’t unheard of for powers to have conditions or strangeness linked to their use, or to have an unknown element hidden within them. Some are more extreme than others, like our local ABB cape Yūrei. Her power is on par to the Siberian in terms of defense, yet can be disrupted by targeting the root of her projection; meanwhile, there is a Case 53 Ward that is entirely made of metal, yet still functions as a human being.”

“Really? Everything?”

“Everything,” Armsmaster confirmed. “He lacks blood, has no real need to breathe or eat, yet still needs to sleep. Obviously, this has affected his senses as well, given he is, by all accounts and tests, little more than a moving metal statue; how he is able to function is chalked up in the same category as the Ash Beast and the Endbringers. In other words, we just don’t know, and are constantly learning new things about powers as time goes by.”

“Like how Conscript’s power doesn’t allow Kaiser to use his power on their armor?”

The elevator showed, lucky empty once more, and Armsmaster gestured me inside.

“Precisely. While it was understood that their power field reinforced their armor, to what extent was unknown until then. This part of your power might simply be annoying, but ultimately benevolent, as it might be linked to your mind and personality, which sees something as wrong, and is working you towards fixing it. On the flip side, it also might cause you or those affected by your power to start proclaiming yourself to be Nyarlathotep, and that all that you do is beyond comprehension.”

I had to blink several times when Armsmaster finished speaking.

“… I thought it was pronounced Nyarlathotep.”

The hero smiled softly, either at my near serious tone or the attempt at diffusing humor I didn’t know.

“In my youth, I had a girlfriend that was a fan of Lovecraft. She had dozens of his books and was an aspiring writer herself, so I got somewhat familiar with the lore and a few of the names of the Old Ones. While I was never a fan of the almost silly path of explaining events that the books often took- where everything was always fated and out of the protagonists control no matter what actions they took- I can say that reading them influenced me into figuring out how things actually worked, which lead me into getting a degree to supplement my Tinkering.”

“But why that particular one?” I ask. Granted, the only reason I knew about The Crawling Chaos was from Emma's _sister_ of all people. She once had a goth/acting phase that lead her into getting a few ‘dark and forbidden’ books to get into character. It hadn’t lasted long (her parents didn’t let it) and she gifted the books to me.

“Because if I recall correctly, he is more of a messenger than anything, rather than someone that directly causes chaos.”

“The answer to that is in your own description,” Armsmaster supplied. “You haven’t chosen to cause us trouble, but your actions have alerted us to some all the same.”

Was he referring to Coil?

If Armsmaster was, he didn’t say, and I didn’t get a chance to ask. The hero was quick to leave the elevator when the doors opened, and I was just as quick to follow.

Right into a rather empty garage.

Oh there were the sounds of people, but I didn’t see any until I realized that the garage was only half as big as it could be, with only a handful of vehicles in it, ranging from a green jeep, Armsmaster bike, a normal looking motorbike, three PRT vans that looked like they could take a blast from a high-level Blaster and keep moving with the armor on them, and three other normal cars.

There were two sets of stairs on one side, from which the voices were echoing, as well as a ramp that was half-closed off by a grate that led up.

“This is where we keep the heavy use PRT vehicles as well as some of the Protectorate’s own vehicles,” Armsmaster explained. “Like my Tinker-Tech bike and my undercover jeep.”

Said green jeep looked just like any other that I’d seen on the street; it even was dirty and had dings in it.

“We’re not taking your bike?” I ask.

Armsmaster glanced over at me with the ghost of a smile. “As much as I enjoy it, there are times that require more discretion than that. Plus, it is a single seater.”

… I knew that.

I tried to see if there was anything special about the jeep as I got closer, but the only thing that I noted was that the windows were heavily tinted.

Though the door opening for me without touching it was nice and made me wary about getting inside. But a single glance showed nothing out of the ordinary, other than the fact that _everything_ was metal with bits of plastic coverings, and something that looked like leather seats but didn’t feel like it.

I didn’t get a chance to close my door before it was already doing so.

“Seatbelt,” stated Armsmaster, as he reached over and opened the glovebox. Inside was what I was really expecting. There was no space for anything, was it was made up of a small screen with slots underneath, holding something.

They were tablets, and Armsmaster handed me one even as I was putting on my seatbelt. “This has the digital versions of the paperwork set up for you to read which discuss and cover the testing procedures, there will be proper paper copies when we get the testing area for you to sign. If you find something that you have questions about, I will do what I can to answer them.”

“Now, are you ready? Because if something happens or you change your mind, this is pretty much your last chance before you make me drive out of here.”

… Was Armsmaster giving me an out? While it was a nice gesture, if I did that now I feared that I would never be coming back, not unless I was forced.

“… no,” I state. “I’m ready.”

Armsmaster nods and starts the jeep with a push of a button.

The vehicle rumbles slightly, but other than that it is near silent, and Armsmaster is quick to drive it up the ramp, the grate movie aside for us to pass.

This part of the garage better fit my image of what the PRT would have in one. Several vans were being worked on, as well as several other vehicles. Troopers, some wearing full suits and others not, walked around the room, moving parts, checking things over and just doing some job that needed it.

No one batted an eye as the jeep passed them, and we continued on to the next ramp, this one blocked by an actual wall with warning signs across it.

“There are holographic emitters that will block you from sight,” Armsmaster stated as we drove towards the guards at the wall. “Limit your movement and the most that they’ll see is a hazy blur.”

The driver’s side window went down as a trooper walked over, I could see the inside of the jeep in the reflection of his mask, as well as the notable absence of me in it and the blocky person-sized haze in my place.

He took one glance at where I sat before asking, “Code, sir?”

Armsmaster rattled off a set of numbers and letters and the trooper glanced down at his clipboard.

“Did you manage to catch the score of the game? I still got three hours left on shift.”

“Twelve and fourteen, it was fourth inning,” replied Armsmaster.

Nodding and then lowering the clipboard, the trooper continued with, “Right, the equipment you requested was set up, but Kin Win wasn’t happy about it. He said he was close to a breakthrough on that shield of his.”

Armsmaster made a face. “Understood.”

And with that done, the trooper stepped back and waved us forward.

After passing through the airlock like system of doors (which I noted had several turrets that looked like they could aim backwards into the garage as well as into the street) and past the patrolling troopers at street level, Armsmaster started driving us down Brockton Bays streets.

“Be sure to check over the paperwork,” Armsmaster asked as we traveled. “It will cover the basics of what the testing involves, though with your unconfirmed Stranger effect it might have to be adjusted. To say nothing of testing the other unconfirmed part of your power, the Reflection.”

The reflection? Did he mean…

“You mean the Double?” I ask. “The hallucinations that Agent Todd talked about in my PRT meeting?”

Armsmaster nods.

“Stranger and Master powers are always the most difficult to test, particularly the ones that influence behavior or are subtle in how they work. The PRT hates them not only for the danger they represent, but also for how hard it is to understand their breath and length. Your, ‘Double,’ has been tentatively linked to your power by the simple grace of several people seeing the same thing, as well as the fact that it all happened to people that have been in contact with you or were at Winslow. However, there have been several cases of mass hysteria where people all claim to have seen the same thing, even before powers were first recorded appearing.”

“We do have several ways of detecting Master/Stranger powers, but only a handful of the simpler ones of them will be present at your testing. But that is something we can tackle at a later date, unless it is revealed to be a pressing matter during the testing. For now, I suggest you look over the paperwork before we get to the testing site.”

Most of said paperwork was common sense things, strength testing, endurance, a few mental exercises, tests for this and that based upon my powers, blood work to be drawn, that kind of thing. Anything more would be done back at the PRT building and only if I requested it.

I finished covering the basic legal summary as we pulled up to a building somewhere in the Docks, an old warehouse from the looks of things. As we pulled up, a red suited figure stepped out; Assault, based upon my days of internet surfing.

He (using his power I figured) shoved open the large door to the warehouse with a flex of his arm as he struck a pose, letting the jeep into an old loading area sperate from the rest of the building.

Armsmaster was not amused with Assault, and glared at the cheekily smiling hero as we drove by.

Assault was one of those heroes that took things less seriously than the others, kinda like Mouse Protector, but less over-the-top. He was one of the ones that most often was sent into the public eye, and given his personality, I could understand why.

As Armsmaster parked his jeep I noted Jessica standing at a folding table to one side. She lacked the dress suit I’d seen her in before, instead was wearing something more casual.

“I’ll make sure Assault leaves the building before you step out,” Armsmaster stated. “He is only here to serve as a… precaution and will come back once we’ve gotten underway and you have a proper mask. One moment.”

The hero left, and I suddenly had nothing to do, so did what any teenager my age would be doing (or at least what I believed would be the case), I checked my phone to keep busy.

An action that had me freezing.

There were messages from _Dragon_ , one after another, each saying different times for delivery, but I was so unused to having a cell that I kept it on silent most of the time, so I didn’t even notice that I _had_ messages.

_‘It would be best for your dad to be with you. You can cancel so that he is, if you so want.’_

_‘Be sure to read all the paperwork.’_

_‘If you don’t feel well, remember you can do the testing at any time.’_

_‘And make sure you understand your rights.’_

There were more, but those were the ones that stuck out at me. What about my rights? Did that have something to do with how Armsmaster was acting?

My read through the messages was cut short when Armsmaster opened my door.

“Ms. Lawson will go over the proper paperwork with you,” he stated. “Be sure to read it all before signing.”

What might have been a simple reminder suddenly turned more ominous. Did Armsmaster want me to check over everything because something was wrong? Or was he just being helpful?

If there was, Jessica wasn’t revealing it. The only words she spoke to me when I walked over to her was to make sure that I wasn’t joining the Wards, and to make sure that I understood the two pieces of paper that I was signing (one for the testing, one coving the fact that I understood that this was a basic powers testing, not everything would be uncovered about my powers in this test).

With that done, Jessica put away the papers, sliding me a quickly made copy beforehand. Then she addressed Armsmaster.

“This was supposed to be my day off, luckily it seems that my date is understanding. As for you, I don’t understand why you _insisted_ on me being here, I wasn’t needed.”

“Protocol dictates that a legal rep must be present during the paperwork signing,” Armsmaster counted. “As Taylor’s appointed rep, you were the best choice.”

Jessica narrowed her eyes at the hero.

“… I don’t fully understand what is going on right now, given the conversation I just had a few minutes ago, but I do know that I am out of my depth here, so I will be leaving. Good luck.”

That last part was addressed to me, and just left me even more confused.

Just what was going on?

Armsmaster directed me towards the door leading further inside, talking about the basics of the test as we went, a running test, strength, intelligence, a small test of healing (which amounted to getting a cut on the arm and seeing what happened); really it sounded no different than what schools did to check for fitness, though the testing that I would be doing in the building would center more around what my _powers_ could do more than what _I_ could do.

I could do a more comprehensive testing for a better understanding of how my power may or may not have had affected _me_ , but that was something for a later date.

Walking into the warehouse proper was mostly what I expected: a large, nearly-empty room, rusted and dusty with pillars shooting up to support the ceiling. Assorted equipment ranging from what looked like a water trough, a set of measured out areas, some computers set to one side, a station of assorted equipment I had could only guess the purpose of (I guessed a few were of medical nature, if only because I saw a heart monitor) were set to one side, far away from everything else.

And Alexandria, who was currently looking over the computers.

I legitimately tripped upon empty air seeing her because _why was one of the Triumvirate here?_

The black and light grey costume with the tower placed in the center of her chest had become the ideal behind the PRT, whose troopers’ uniforms reflected the same designs, though they lacked the cape and weren’t as elegant.

“Ma’am, what… this…” Armsmaster stuttered before regaining himself. “I was not expecting you, Alexandria.”

(Some part of my mind noted that the hero was none-too-gentle in grabbing my arm to help keep me upright, but I was just as flabbergasted, because it was _Alexandria_ )

Alexandria turned away from the computers she was looking over, her cape swishing across the ground, nodding her helmeted head towards the pair of us as she walked towards us.

“Armsmaster, I’m sorry about the sudden intrusion, but events have caused this testing has become something of importance, enough so that I believed it was necessary for me to be here.”

The sheer _presence_ that Alexandria put out with how she moved, walked, stood, it made me want to take _several_ steps back while at the same time respectfully stand up taller.

She walked with the confidence of the indomitable, each step more than just confident, but _sure,_ as if she how no doubt in where she was walking and what she was doing.

It was like watching a tiger, the confidence as she strode forward, in her actions and steps. I actually found myself trying to take a step back, only for Armsmaster’s grip to keep me in place.

“It had been stressed that Miss Hebert should undergo a powers testing at the earliest available opportunity,” Armsmaster stated, his hand drifting up to grasp at my shoulder. “But I was under the impression that it was due to the leeway that was given to her, coupled with the state of the city and her Trigger event.”

“While viewed as questionable by some, I won’t deny the reasoning and logic behind the decision to be easy on, Taylor Hebert, was it?” Alexandria asked as she reached us, extending a hand for me to take.

I took Alexandria’s hand automatically as I was still overcome with the fact that it was _Alexandria,_ I had pictures of her on my wall! And a lunchbox! She was spoken about in the international level of capes and powers! And here I was shaking hands with her!

… _still_ shaking hands with her in fact, something that caused me to yank mine away and blurt out a, “Sorry!” once I realized it.

Alexandria seemed slightly amused at the whole thing, which just made my face burn with embarrassment even more. I actually even found my hand going up to try and fix my hair, forgetting that I had put it in a bun, and ended up wiggling my hand in the air for a moment before I corrected.

“It is quite alright Miss Hebert, it’s expected. Armsmaster, if there is any way that I can help, let me know, the sooner we get to the bottom of the situation and the sooner we can get it resolved.”

“Ma’am, with all due respect,” Armsmaster spoke, his grip tightening painfully on my shoulder, pulling me out of my shock. “You’ve yet to explain your presence here, and while I would not mind your assistance given your experience and skills, I still have to ask: Why are you here?”

Alexandria seemed to flinch, it was only a second, a moment so fast I wasn’t sure it was there, before she hardened herself.

“That is something that I don’t need to explain to _you,_ Armsmaster, even before considering the fact it's above your paygrade.”

And with that, what little was left of my good mood of meeting Alexandria, evaporated.

What was going on? Ok sure, I blew up a building (on accident), and the PRT handled me lightly because they foresaw a PR issue if they threw me into the Birdcage, and Brockton Bay wasn’t exactly a place that could handle any more bad PR (plus it would be a bad idea to push the girl that could theoretically destroy buildings with her power) but to gather the attention of Alexandria? One of the top heroes in the country, if not the world?!?

What was it that made me or my power so important?

Armsmaster was likely thinking the same thing as me, because he next asked, “Miss Hebert has willingly agreed to come in for testing, and has done so even with the PRT insisting on pushing the timetable up, something that has a manner of legal duplicity given her Independent status. Furthermore, as the leader of the Protectorate ENE it is my responsibility to oversee the Parahumans in the area, among them, Miss Hebert. Finally, I have no knowledge of any new information pertaining to her or her abilities, which makes your appearance here, suspect.”

Alexandria watched Armsmaster for a moment, before rattling off a set of numbers and letters. If anything, this caused Armsmasters’ frown to deepen.

“That isn’t what I meant, ma’am, if Miss Heberts’ situation has changed because of new information, then I wasn’t made aware of it. And to keep her in the dark like this about it would be considered misleading as well, something that I didn’t expect from you, of all people.”

The tension racked up a few notches, with Armsmaster shifting his weight and Alexandria standing that much taller.

And there I was, stuck right in the middle of it. I felt like I was back at Emmas, when her parents were having one of their ‘spats,’ only between two extremely powerful and public figures.

But all of the tension vanished when Alexandria sighed heavily.

“I do understand what this seems like, but know that there are things you are not aware of Armsmaster,” Alexandria stated. “Assets that you don’t know about, the type that we keep hidden because of how valuable they are, and two of them- both extremely high-level Thinkers- have experienced the same Stranger effect that was attributed to Miss Hebert’s power. I believe you will understand why that is a concern.”

Armsmaster was steady for a moment, before sighing himself and relaxing.

“Yes, I do,” he said as he removed his hand from my shoulder.

Alexandria nodded once, before turning towards me, and I found myself pinned beneath her helmeted gaze.

“I don’t have anything personally against you Miss Hebert, and everything that I have read suggests that you are simply someone that has found herself in a difficult situation, but understand that my position in the Protectorate means that I do not have the liberty of taking things at face value, particularly when it comes to things like this. To say that we need to get to the bottom of this would be an understatement.”

I… I could understand where she was coming from, the PRT might have had its issues, but things would be far worse if they stopped doing their jobs, or were forced to stop. But that didn’t mean that was I comfortable with anything that was happening right now.

Something must have been written on my face because Alexandria added in a kinder voice, “Understand Miss Heb- Taylor, that this is just a precaution. It is possible that it isn’t you that is causing this Stranger effect, but given the data we have gathered you are the currently best bet because of how it was first recorded at _your_ Trigger Event. It is also possible that it is easily controlled, but you’ve yet to understand how; not every cape has complete understanding of their power when they first start out, after all.”

What else could I do but agree with her? She was the second-in-command of the entire Protectorate, and one of the most powerful capes in the world. She fought threats every day to keep people like me safe, and even though I so wanted to ask her if she was going to do anything about the gangs in the Bay, to step in and clean things up (which would be so easy for her to do), I also knew that there was more going on in the world outside my little slice of a city.

“… Yes, I do.”

Not acknowledging the softness in my voice, Alexandria nodded. “Good, then we can begin right away. Armsmaster? I see that you have nearly set up everything for E-Class Testing protocols, once you are done, we can begin by examine Miss Hebert here for a baseline, then go from there.”

“We’ll set you up with a mask first,” Armsmaster interjected. “Then we’ll bring Assault in as a precaution against your power with the testing is underway.”

“Will one of these suffice?”

Pulling it out from seemingly nowhere, Alexandria handed me a domino mask. It was a nice gesture, but…

“Won’t cover much, will it?” I ask carefully, one of my hands flicking around my head. “My hair and glasses…”

Both of the heroes just looked at me for a moment, and I could _see_ the gears turning in their heads.

“I understand,” stated Alexandria with a soft smile after a moment. “I had the same issue with my own hair.”

“Something that I recently understood about Assault, who at times acts… less than professional, is very good at understanding situations and intent, as well as being a people person,” Armsmaster said. “If you are ok with it, we can simply forgo the mask and allow Assault in. He will have no problem keeping your identity a secret, I trust him.”

I didn’t in fact, Assault was known as one of the better capes in the city, nearly always spotted alongside Battery. The kinetic manipulator often would stop and chat to people or visit schools and workplaces. He definitely fit the bill of a ‘PR cape,’ but at the same time was viewed as one of the harder working capes in the city as well.

“Very well then,” Armsmaster stated after I told him I was fine with Assault. “Then it will only take a moment to finish setting up the equipment while he comes in. Alexandria? Would you care to assist me?”

The way Armsmaster gestured with his arm made it clear that it was more than just a request, something that had me gawking because this was _Alexandria,_ but the female hero simply nodded and turned to walk back towards the desk of computers.

And I was left standing there for a moment, several moments actually, of which I spent watching the pair converse in hush tones as they walked away, until Assault suddenly slid up beside me, one hand extended.

“Nice you meet you…?” he asks as a question.

I take his hand after a moment of hesitation. “Taylor.”

“Good to meet you Taylor,” Assault says joyously, while shaking my hand. “Assault, of the Protectorate ENE, perhaps you’ve heard of me?”

“… that I have… Aren’t you the one that turned Hookwolf into modern art?” I ask as he continues to shake my hand.

“Ah, how I suffered for that work,” Assault says dramatically, one arm flinging up to cover his face.

“And then that brute of a man Kaiser showed up and destroyed it, such a man has no appreciation for the finer things in life.”

I couldn’t help the smile that twitched upon my lips at Assault’s over-the-top antics.

A camera crew had caught the event in question; turns out that trying to attack a kinetic energy manipulator head on with blades and impacts was a bad idea. The second most infamous cape in the city ended up turning into one of those perpetual motion art displays, with Hookwolf trying desperately to get away from Assault, while the hero simply shoved his blades back at him or shattered them.

Which now that I thought about it, was probably why he was here. Assault was likely one of the few people in the city that could deal with an tree-ice eruption. If something like that happened, he could protect Armsmaster and limit the damage by redirecting it away.

“Ah! I see that smile,” Assault stated. “That’s good, this won’t be as bad as you think if you’re relaxed about it.”

“I don’t think anyone can really be relaxed about something like this,” I pointed out. But Assault just shrugged.

“Eh, a matter of perspective really. For me, powers tests are common enough that it’s like a holiday, only one were you sometimes have to use power tools or explosives to get good enough results.”

… explosives?

“Hmm? Oh yeah, they handed me a grenade at the end of my testing to see if I could redirect it,” Assault explains with an easygoing smile on his face (to my horrified one). “Turns out I can!”

“It wasn’t a _real_ ‘turn-me-into-giblets’ grenade,” Assault further explained. “And they made sure that I understood what I was doing and that I was ok with it. Plus, I wanted to see if I could, because then you know, I could be one of those action movie characters, the ones that walk away from the explosions like _badasses._ Don’t worry, Armsmaster might have a bit of a stick up his butt, but if he told me that he needed my help to fight a ramped-up Lung, I’d simply ask if he could spare some sunscreen.”

“So relax, kid,” Assault added, gently clasping my shoulder. “Armsmaster won’t make you do anything like that unless you ended up joining the Protectorate or something, and wanted to know yourself, and only then if all the i’s and t’s were crossed and dotted beforehand and he had a backup plan for his backup plan’s backup plan.”

… that didn’t really make me _feel_ better, but it _was_ comforting to know that I wouldn’t get handed a live grenade at some point (though that… hadn’t really been a worry in the first place). With the shock of seeing _Alexandria_ here, I was having more doubts about this whole thing, something that, frankly, was pissing me off.

Because really, I couldn’t catch a break, could I?

First, my best friend threw away everything we had together, then I was kicked around for two years before I ended up Triggering and blowing up my school. And now? Now people were dancing around me with their secrets and implied words, leaving me in the background once more.

It was just…

“Uh, Taylor?” Assault asks. “What are you…”

The hero followed me as I stomped my way over to Alexandria and Armsmaster, both of them looking up from whatever they were doing as I approached.

“I know this might be a little blunt to say, but can we just get on with my powers testing?” I ask in a bland tone. “I’m not interested in the politics of capes, I just want to be able to sleep at night without worrying that I’m inadvertently causing a cult that sends goat sacrifices to the Deep Ones or something. I’ve had enough drama in the last view years, and I still have two more to go in high school as well, so _can we just stop with the bullshit and get this done?_ ”

Both of the heroes stared at me, their helmets revealing nothing from my outburst.

I sucked in a tight breath as they looked at me, clenching my hands up to control the shaking in them.

(I could feel my nails biting into flesh)

_Maybe I shou-_

_No,_ as much as this seemed like a _stupid idea_ (like, really _really_ stupid), if I didn’t plant my foot down and start pushing back at some point, then I would just keep getting walked over by everyone.

It’s said that there is a point that people reach that either makes or breaks them, a point where they have become accustomed to everything that had/has happened to them, to the point where it became an irreparable part of their lives and they view it all as normal.

Or, they fight back, breaking out of the self-feeding cycle that has trapped them.

Anxiety was nothing new to me; the twisting of my gut, the tightening of my chest, the tension in my arms, the shaking of my limbs, all of this and more I had felt while the Trio had bullied me.

(I felt it now, like a pressure at my back, telling me to _submit_ )

Despite that, despite wanting to curl up upon myself and duck my head under their gaze, I held it, looking into the metal surfaces of their helmets as best as I could.

I wasn’t the girl that had let herself be bullied for two years anymore; she had let it go on long enough that it had nearly gotten her- _me-_ killed. There was just too much for me to lose if I let that happen again, too much that I wanted to _experience_ and _do_ to let myself be shoved underfoot and into the dark corners again.

I would _push back_ , I will stand my ground against things like that, I would take _action_ to prevent it from happening again.

There were legalities that protected me, rules and laws that I could bring up to brace myself, not even counting the fact that if I stopped _-ugh, I didn’t want to say that I was moping around-_ but if I stopped trying to keep myself on the outskirts and actually made friends that would stand beside me, then I would have people that would have my back.

And if that didn’t work, I could always channel some of that (in)famous Hebert anger and throw a few punches.

(my breath hitched even as I considered that)

Neither hero seemed happy with how I basically just told them off… _Tough,_ I came here to get myself out of the rut I was in, not to get dragged into… whatever was going on with them. I didn’t want any part of it, and if I had any say in it, never would.

And if that meant I had to put my foot down and start yelling… well, that wasn’t the most adult thing I could do, but just walking seemed silly when I was the one that wanted this.

(all the while I fought the what-ifs, the what-could-happens, what-will-happens that popped up in my brain, shoving them into little boxes to tossed aside and decay over time)

“… you made a good point,” Armsmaster admits, glancing over to Alexandria. “The whole point of us- of _you,_ being here is to better understand your power. Despite… concerns, with events surrounding you and your power, the end goal for today has not changed, even if other things have. If there is nothing else you wish to add, Alexandria?”

The female hero hadn’t seemed happy even before I walked over; despite Armsmaster ‘request’ of assistance, I had noticed that he had been quick to take charge in whatever they were doing, all but pushing Alexandria aside to do so. Whatever they were talking about in not-quite- silent voices hadn’t helped either.

As it was it was easy to see the sourness on Alexandria’s face, something that made my insides quiver and forced my breath to hitch for a moment. Because really, Alexandria wasn’t the type of person that you wanted to get angry.

Pushing things as I was right now probably didn’t help her mood.

But after a moment of her not saying anything, Armsmaster was quick to step around the hero, moving towards me with a small case in his hand.

“Excellent. Assault if you could get into position. Taylor, come this way, please, and we can get started with a baseline.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Gah, this was originally an over 16k word chapter, but I split in two because I really didn’t want something like this that big (no matter how much I hated to because then this one kinda become one bigger filler/foreshadowing chapter… )  
> And yes, I think even I got whiplash from Taylor here, but there is a point that people either break or punch back.  
> But, having her balance on the edge was getting tiring after all, so it was about time that she stopped wavering and took a stand for herself (despite how frightening it might have been for her here).  
> Also, I’ve adjusted Tāwhirimāteas size, she’s now bigger than an aircraft carrier, well over a thousand feet in length, with ‘proper’ respect given to her wingspan in rough ‘accordance’ to what that length would need to fly (largely to reflect new Lore and to better give her the ‘oh shit that is Fucking Big,’ feeling of awe that she needs).


	28. 3.8 Firewalker

_June 7th, 2006_

**_“You? You claim to be heroes? You believe that your masks make you powerful, important, and safe, hidden behind them as you are? No, not here, not in the ways that matter. Behind those masks, you are nothing but children playing a game, just like we were, once.”_ **

**_“And children always grow up, whether they like it or not.”_ **

* * *

I noted that Armsmaster kept himself between me and Alexandria as he guided me to the cluster of desks, stopping me in front of where he had been working.

Still wired from my earlier outburst, I hoped for a chair to let my quaking legs rest, but there was only one.

“Let me finish setting up the final settings then we can get started,” Armsmaster stated as he took a seat. “This set up was put in place just for this, so I need to make sure it’s all in working order. In the meantime, there are a few safety checks we need to go over.”

“In the case of your power going haywire, if at all possible, keep it aimed away from anyone, as well as to keep as still as possible if you are in no danger. Assault will be standing by to help ensure that we are safe, but that doesn’t mean we should take unnecessary risks.”

“If need be, I can step in as well,” Alexandria interjected. “I’m fast enough to get you either away from the area or to pull you out of danger while having little to no risk to myself. Though we should start small, the last thing we need is for you to replicate Winslow.”

“But the ice might not have been me,” I cut in.

“… I’m sorry?”

“Taylor earlier informed me that she inadvertently used her power to go invisible, without the formation of any ice,” Armsmaster clarified to Alexandria. “Whether or not this is just another aspect of her power is yet to be determined, as powers often have sub-sets to them.”

“I am aware, Armsmaster,” Alexandria said coolly. “I have met several Blaster/Changers in which their powers are linked in use, as well as a Changer/Shaker/Thinker. Odd power mixes are rare, but not unheard of.”

If Armsmaster caught Alexandria's tone, then he gave no sign of it, simply nodding and adding: 

“An excellent example. Grey Bulk, I assume?”

“Yes, though he was considering a name change the last I heard. Armsmaster, if Taylor is to be believed- not that I’m saying you’re lying, Ms. Hebert,” the hero interrupted herself, trying to placate me with an upraised hand. “Have the protocols been changed to compensate? Do we have something to work with, or are we going off of assumptions and following the Sentinel Standards?”

“Nothing that extreme, ma’am, Taylor had already informed me that she exercised her power by accident at Arcadia. She stated that she displayed some form of invisibility. We’ll go with the Wyvern Protocols.”

Alexandria hummed and glanced at me. “A good choice, what type of invisibility are we talking about, Ms. Hebert: actual invisibility or some form of Stranger power that induced invisibility?”

“… There’s a difference?” I hesitantly ask.

“Only on the paperwork side of things,” says Assault, the red-suited hero having taken a spare seat and now leaning impossibly far back in it.

“In practical terms, being invisible means you can’t be _seen_ , but there is a difference between being _transparent_ , and having no one see you and/or perceive you as a threat. Nice Guy, for example- he didn’t go _invisible_ , but he might as well have been.”

“Not the best or most accurate example, but a fair one nevertheless,” Armsmaster stated. “So you _do_ read the reports I give out.”

“Well what else am I going to do when I’m on Alert Five? Never cared for watching TV and you yanked the gaming consoles from the Deck _months_ ago. Plus we _both_ know how bad Battery is at writing up reports.”

Armsmaster stopped his typing to glance over at his fellow hero, mouth open and head and shoulders coming back in that familiar way that I’d seen teachers move just before they discipline a student…

Before he paused and frowned.

“… Reminder: schedule a team meeting about proper protocol involving the Deck and Protectorate forms.”

“Will do, Boss!”

Armsmaster sighed and turned back to the computers. “I referring to _you,_ Assault.”

There were several more moments of waiting while Armsmaster finished up whatever he was doing. After which he spun around to face me, picking up a case and opening it as he did so.

“Now, I need to attach these to get readings from you, if I may?” Armsmaster asks as he gestures to me. A quick nod was all he needed to begin.

Armsmaster was quick and clinical, attaching several devices to my arms, one to my head, one to my neck, and then clipping something onto one of my fingers.

“This will only take a moment to establish the baseline. Some powers are linked to emotional states, which have clear physical and biological reactions behind them. Given what limited examples we have of your power, this data might lead to you better understanding and controlling it.”

Turning away, the hero busied himself with a keyboard, and it was only from watching TV that I understood some of what was showing up on the screens. A heart monitor and the like, but a few I was sure only a medical professional would understand. One screen even had some form of wireframe being formed on it; it flowed in a rough circle, hundreds of wires twisting in some pattern.

It was a _long_ minute of waiting before Armsmaster nodded and turned back to me.

“Now, you said that you believe you voluntarily used your power before, is it possible for you to replicate that?” Armsmaster asked. “In a small as amount as you can please, just ‘flex’ your power, if you will. I will monitor from here.”

I noticed out of the corner of my eye that Alexandria had drifted away, floating off the ground with her arms still clasped behind her back. She stood like a statue, the only movement being from her cape steadying.

Not that that made me nervous or anything.

It took a moment, to reach for that Well- not within me, but still in my center. To draw it out, to bring it forth from my arms.

White-blue smoke _rippled_ from my hands, arcing through the air for a moment before vanishing. And now that I was looking, I could also see little bits of the same light shooting off my arms as well, like wiggly sparks.

What was it? Part of my power? Some people got pretty powers, some got nothing to show off their power, and others (like Murderbeam, or New Wave) had some sort of effect to show that it was working.

Was this mine? Did it do anything? Could I control it or change it? Or was it just a side effect of me tapping into the Well?

The sound of Armsmaster grunting pulled me from my introspection, and I looked up to see him angrily tapping away at his keyboard.

Or at least was trying to, because I realized after a moment that all of the screens had frozen, the heart monitor resembled a three-year-old’s drawing, several others seemed to be in the middle of becoming static, and the wireframe had twisted itself into a pretzel.

Armsmaster stopped pounding away at the keys to turn and open up one of the computers, releasing a small puff of smoke as he did so.

“… Well,” Armsmaster started with a frown as he waved away the cloud. “If it was that easy to understand powers then it would have been done long ago. You can remove the sensors for now, I need to see what I can salvage from this.”

I couldn’t help from saying sorry.

“Not entirely your fault Miss Herbert,” came Alexandria’s voice from right behind me, causing me to spin around with a gasp.

“Powers are barely understood the best of times.”

Again, I was struck with how much of a _presence_ Alexandria had, and how easily it could change from admiration, to intimidation.

She still had her arms behind her back, but with how she was floating _right behind me,_ made me view it less in awe and more as an uneasy feeling. What was she doing so close?

She didn’t even move as I took a step back, she just floated there, watching me.

… was she waiting for something? Or did she want to ask questions? Or for _me_ to ask questions?

It was hard to hold onto my spurt of confidence from before, having Alexandria floating ominously behind you tends to make one start to shake in one’s boots.

Just what was it that she wanted? Confirmation that I was the one causing the Thinker issues? Was she just standing by to intercede if something went wrong? Or was she just like this, so used to being looked upon with awe that she no longer understood things like personal boundaries when it came to capes and powers?

… no, wait, that was more like Vicky. She was the one that had the problem of ‘youth plus power’ to inflate her head (then again, if I looked like her and had her powers, I was sure I would have a big head as well).

Part of me hoped that Alexandria would do something after our… it wasn’t quite a staredown, she seemed to be looking near me, more than right _at_ me. Yet she wasn’t doing anything.

After several seconds, just for me to have something to do, I started to remove the things Armsmaster had put on me, careful not to let Alexandria out of my sight, even as I set them aside. She gave no reaction to my moments, simply floating there and waiting.

“Very well, we’ll move onto the practical testing.” Armsmaster to the rescue!

The power-armor wearing hero walked past me, seemingly not seeing any issue with how Alexandria was acting and grabbed a few more of those sensors to replace the ones that I removed.

These were different, larger and fewer of them. One went on my neck, and two more went on my arms. The final one was placed on my head like before.

“Now, it will take me a moment to get the backup running,” Armsmaster stated as he took a step back. “During that time if you could walk out to stand in front of the camera out in the middle of the floor, then we can move forward with the actual power testing. If there is anything else you wish to add or clarify, now would be the time to do it.”

“… I don’t… need to eat or sleep anymore?” I said hesitantly.

Armsmaster simply stared at me, before asking, “You’ve tested this?”

“… yeah, I… I got a little curious about if there was something else to my power, like faster reflexes or something, and ended up not sleeping for a day, which changed to not eating for a while, but I got hungry after I pushed myself on a jog but other than that I haven’t had anything substantial aside from some water and snacks to keep appearances, but even then I didn’t feel like I _needed_ it. I swear I was going to bring it up, but I just didn’t know if you wanted to do this like a checklist or…something…” I trailed off.

I couldn’t understand Armsmaster's expression as he stood there, even with his mask blocking most of it; it was strangely… blank.

“… what about waste?”

Assault coughed in the background, _loudly._

Armsmaster seemed to jerk and shook his head to free himself from… whatever he was thinking (how was I supposed to answer _that!?)_ , before turning away from me and mumbling something about luck.

“I’ll mark it down for a later, long-term study,” he stated. “It is possible that there is an unseen side effect which could cause problems further down the line, so it will have to be addressed. For now, please walk out to the marked location and face the targets, it’s time for the practical testing of your power.”

It took me several moments before I spotted the ‘targets,’ if only because Assault pointed them out to me.

They were on the far end of the warehouse, visible only as posts that stood out as being painted yellow, as opposed to the grey/black/rust-colored building.

“I can give you a lift if you don’t want to walk,” offered Assault.

“Or Armsmaster could give you one in his jeep,” He finished in an overly-loud voice, looking at the Tinker. Said Tinker looked up from where he was working on the busted computer and paused.

“… Ah, it _is_ some distance.”

“I can jog it.”

“You don’t need to,” Armsmaster continued, moving to stand up. “It will be a simple matter t-“

“I didn’t get my jog in this morning anyway,” I explained. “It would be nice to fix that.”

Armsmaster wavered for a moment, before nodding and returning to his seat. “Very well, if you are fine with it.”

I noted that Alexandria didn’t offer me a lift, nor move from her spot during the conversation but pushed that aside and got moving.

The upside of my jog? I got to get away from the trio of heroes and lose myself in the repetition of my run, feeling the steady pounding of my feet upon the concrete, and listening to the subtle echo of the cavernous room.

Downside: The jog gave me time to _think,_ something that I felt wasn’t the best choice right now.

I hadn’t expected everything to go the way it was, but I also hadn’t known what to really expect in the first place, so…

All the same, what had happened so far wasn’t anything like what I would have guessed.

Armsmaster, Assault, Alexandria… when I had walked into the PRT building for my testing session, I had expected something more like a lab, with heroes from the Protectorate watching over me as I used my power, with maybe a few other trusted people taking notes.

Instead, I got taken to the abandoned part of town (which I understood, ie. destroying a building), and had one of the Triumvirate there to oversee it. Which…. I didn’t really get now that I thought about it.

Even if my power was making a mess of other Thinkers, why would the second-in-command of the Protectorate show up to deal with it?

Alexandria wasn’t affected by Master powers, but… my power wasn’t a Master power. They could have just sent someone else, or had a few Thinkers watching my session. Hell, Armsmaster basically reported to her, Alexandria could have just asked him for a report or to extend my testing to see what I could do.

She _knew_ something about my power, something that she wasn’t telling any of us, I could _feel_ it. There was no other reason for her to act the way she was, not for someone like _her._

Question was, _what?_ Was it something she hadn’t shared? Some piece of information that a Thinker had uncovered about what my power could do?

Could Thinkers even do that? I hadn’t really ever used my power and sure, Precogs and all of that, but if they could figure out my power that easily, then how come people like the Nine were still running around?

Those thoughts accompanied me for most of my jog, circling in my head.

The ‘marked location’ was little more than a chalk square on the floor, around which were markings that had distances next to them extending out to the point where I couldn’t see them anymore.

To the right had several different types of targets made of what I guessed were different types of metal, along with wood, plastic, and a few other building materials, all held upright on stands. There were also plants, the type you would find in an office; a few ferns, some flowers. I guessed they were for seeing what my power would do to living things?

On the left were things like cameras and other recording equipment, all pointed at where I could stand.

 _“Taylor, can you hear me?”_ Armsmasters' voice echoed out from one of the devices, as, somewhat creepily, one of the cameras started following me as I moved.

“Yes.”

_“Good, everything is coming through fine on our end, so we’ll begin in a moment… do you feel winded from your jog?”_

I shook my head at the camera. “… not particularly.” It hadn’t been much of a jog after all; I did more during my morning runs.

_“… none of your vitals have changed since I placed then on you, outside predicted jumps for basic movement. In fact, the few metabolic readings I have from you suggest that you expended no energy for that jog.”_

“… which means?”

 _“… Ignore Armsmaster for now,”_ Alexandria cut in. _“Circumventing the conservation of energy isn’t unprecedented for capes, though having it to this level_ is _somewhat unique. One moment.”_

It was actually several before Armsmaster started speaking again.

_“… hmm, right. The original testing for you involved seeing both the state of your power, and if you could control it. Obviously, parts of the testing were organized under the assumptions of a controlled repeat of the Winslow Event, but if it has changed then we’ll be following a different plan.”_

_“Basically, we wing it.”_

“ _We_ wing _nothing, Assault, there are procedures to follow even in situations like this.”_

_“Which amounts to, ‘use the power, see what happens.’”_

_“In a controlled manner to the best of the cape in questions ability.”_

_“That part should be common sense though.”_

_“If common sense was really common, then everyone would use it.”_ Alexandria again interjected, more sternly this time. _“Taylor, simply start with what you were doing before and continue on from there with whatever feels natural, using your power in limited amounts at first. We’ll be monitoring from here.”_

I could hear what sounded like bickering in the distance as I took Alexandra’s words to heart and focused inwards towards my power.

It was easier this time, to bring the flow of blue-white wisps of gas-light from my arms.

No, not easier, I just knew what I was doing now. Experience had me reaching for my power the same way someone might reach for a doorknob; cause and effect based upon previous experience telling me what and how this would work.

I swished and hands and arms through the air, watching as the light-mist twirled into half-fractal circles, lines and ropes that curled back upon themselves.

 _“That’s good Taylor,”_ Armsmaster said over the radio. _“Now, start small and work your way up, slowly if you will, using your power the best you can, in whatever form it takes beyond this.”_

Well, that was a simple request, and it was something that I felt didn’t need to be said, if only because I didn’t want to make another Winslow. Trouble was…

“And how do I do that?”

_“… I’m sorry?”_

At this distance, I felt free to roll my eyes. Really?

“My power, how do I use it?”

“… hello?”

I glanced back from where I came, trying o see if something had happened, but the distance was just far enough that I couldn’t see more than their figures.

 _“… It is instinctual,”_ came Alexandria’s stern voice. _“While the specifics might escape you at this time, using your power should be as natural as walking Miss Hebert.”_

Wait instinctual? As in capes just got their powers and just knew how to use them? That seemed… strange… as much as being able to suddenly fly was ‘strange’ anyway.

How did that work anyway? Did powers come with an instruction manual? One second you’re in a bad spot, the next you’re able to walk through walls with no issue? And just knew that you could do it?

“Well not for me,” I countered. “I don’t _remember_ what happened at Winslow, and don’t know how I went invisible before, I barely figured out _this_ by accident. I panicked and it started happening, and all I know now is that I can do _this_.”

I lifted my arms above my head and shook them, letting a light show play out.

“This isn’t even something I knew I could do until I did it. Anything more than this? Nothing.”

 _“Every cape_ knows _how to use their power, Ms. Hebert; it is all but the single defining rule for most capes. Not knowing would be like not knowing how to use your arms, or to breathe.”_

_“Not entirely accurate, Alexandria, some capes don’t understand their powers as they are reactionary or linked to outside stimuli. To say nothing of…”_

Armsmaster stopped long enough to make me worry, and while I could make out Alexandria having moved his way, but the distance was just far enough that I could get nothing more than that.

Though despite that, I could figure out what had happened. From my limited interactions with Armsmaster I had gathered that he was… blunt. Not quite to the point of him being insensitive, but having the mix of intelligence and straightforwardness that would allow him to open his mouth and lay out exactly what happened to me and how it came about as well as some of his own complacency in the events, _while my father was right there in the room._

So, I could see him getting the evil-eye from Alexandria over his words in my mind, even if they were more directed at me for the explanation.

 _“It is possible that your powers are linked to a mental state,”_ Armsmaster continued at the end of those long moments. “ _It isn’t uncommon to have powers only work when the cape is feeling something. For now, focus on what you’ve done so far, expand on that first and we’ll see what happens.”_

Easy enough, in theory.

Like before, I stoked my power, bring up more of the lightning-mist. It shifted along my arms and expanded to my chest before stopping.

_“That’s good Taylor, whatever you’re doing seems to be working. Keep at it, try using more of your power, think of the events that were occurring when you used it before.”_

“Easy for you to say,” I mutter.

Still, I thought back to the bathroom, the feeling of not wanting something to happen to me, the weightlessness of slipping, the _fear._

… and nothing happened, my power remained how it was, little wisps of light echoing across my arms.

But there was more, I could _feel it._ The Well, the place where my power was coming from, it felt like I was just sticking my fingertips into it, barely causing ripples in its surface.

How did I know this? I didn’t quite know, it was just… _there._ An echo of somth-

_-taking hold. You will have to dream, m-_

-ing _else_. What, I had no idea.

And why was I tried all of the sudden?

I shook the feeling off with a shake of my head, focusing back at my arms and my power streaming off of them.

… Why my arms? Was it because I just so happened to be looking at them? Or was it something more?

I could feel it, the flow of my power reaching out through me, the rush and ebb of something that _could_ have ‘felt’ like water, but yet… I somehow just _knew that it wasn’t._

Maybe there was something to the whole ‘instinctual’ thing.

As I toyed with the feeling under my skin, I reflected upon what I was ‘feeling,’ just to try and get a better understanding of what it was.

My first thought of my power was that it felt like a well, of a hidden depth that stretched on down unseen, of something lurking just under the surface and I was able to draw it out.

But as I felt more, felt it roll across my _fingers_ and though my _bones, mind, and s o u l_ , I realized it was more something akin to a bright, rolling ocean, of which was flexing, pressing, rolling against me as I reached for it.

I was just simultaneously the river, the spigot, the dam that was holding it back, stopping it from rushing forth in a storm of spinning, twirling fog-lighting.

My power wanted to flow, to push out, to move unimpeded through me, the bridge between _t h e r e_ and _h e r e_ being little more than the flesh of my mind, and I was stopping it, holding back the crushing weight of a hidden and unknown world.

Whispers danced in my eyes and ears, of stories lost and untold, of madness and chaos and love and pain and hate and happiness and song and silence.

Voices echoed in my ears, of events long past, of a ship, lost and forgotten.

Endless hallways stretched, formed of white, gold, black and blue. Hope and duty, honor and fear echoed in hazy faces. A shudder amongst the deck-plates, the lights flicker. Something had happened.

Clusters gather up and separate, work is done, and machinery is repaired.

But what was made was unmade as the _p r e s s u r e_ slowly wormed its way to the tender center, twisting away at thoughts and minds.

_Something’s out there, kiddo... watching us._

My power connected me to _something_. At a glance, dark and vast on the surface, unfathomable just as the stars above would be to one that only looked upon them.

Yet I could all but _s e e_ rolling clouds of light churning through it, **t a s t e** the promise of power within the lightning threads as they rolled by, bending in on itself as it had done and always will be done.

There was familiarity to it. There was danger to it. Glimpses of un-seeable things flickered by, echoes of the past walked before the future. But yet I could _h e a r_ the noise of the world speaking out, of un-dreamed dreams and lost promises. And I knew it, I’d _s e e n_ it sung before.

It was like… experiencing a song that I _k n e w,_ that I _swore_ I knew it, but _didn’t_ _know from where._

Deeper down I went, watching figures twirl and move in the flows and mists, lands forgotten to time and unbirthed from the world, even as they were eroded away, twisted, and reshaped by the swirling mists of lightening-water.

An image, of an outstretched hand, of rushing figures, of roving shapes moving forward as reality became _u n t w i n e d_.

_Rap_

a parent, defending her son

cards, each marked with different faces

laugher, cruel and mocking

madness in the crew’s eyes as they roamed

a son, hiding from his mother

a child’s plea, shouted before a door sealed shut

eyes, like black pits staring me down, as the _Donda_ spun alone

a face marred in reflex from the unexpected touch

poked and prodded by uncaring steel hands

voices, loud and demanding

a kind touch, a promise

_TAP_

sleeping, yet awake

failure, harsh truths and a trial

a flash of green light

realization and an invention

awake, yet sleeping

blades seeking flesh, metal worming into skin

chosen

willing or not

bound together, in the

_dream_

misery

and

_not_

rage

and

_of_

undeath

and

_what_

anguish

and

_you_

loss

and

**_are_ **

**pain**

_TA-_

_“-ylor?”_

My head jerked back. “Huh?”

 _“… You drifted for a moment,”_ Armsmaster explained. _“You alright?”_

“I’m…” I paused. I was what? I felt like I had just for-

A sharp pain bloomed in the center of my forehead, prompting me to grip my head and groan for a moment.

_“Taylor!?”_

“Fine! I’m fine!” I shout, trying not to make a deal out of it. “I just…”

 _… What?_ What had I been thinking about? Something about _–_

_-ua a few years ago. They're calli-_

-Devils? Despair? Why were those the first words to come to mind?

Every time I tried to reach out for the memory-

_-utgrown the cradle. Now your Tran-_

-It was like… I didn’t know, one of those out-of-body feelings of being pulled inside my head and out the back of my skull if I tried to focus too hard on what just happened.

Yet… something was tickling at the back of my head, something that I… realized.

“… You know when you have that moment of introspection that you get when you just… realize something?” I ask. “I just had that.”

“I have _powers,”_ I say after a moment, letting the energy pool from my hand once more. “No matter what happens after this, my life is never going to be the same.”

That wasn’t it, but it was… close.

I tried hard to cling to what had happened-

_-ave a little quiet. It's my turn to ask the ques-_

-But the harder I reached, the faster it slipped through my fingers like sand, leaving behind a feeling of loss and relief.

There was something I was _missing_ , like-

_-nd. The power and the misery... of the V-_

-there was something… more, to my power. Something… else, that I could do.

“… how much are powers controlled by emotions?”

_“It varies from power to power, but more have some intertwined levels to the mental states of the cape in question. Why? Have you figured something out?”_

“No,” I mutter. “Just…”

“How do they work? I mean really, how do our minds just suddenly know how our powers? Do our brains get rewired, or is it just like learning any other skill? Just more… instant, rather than _learned_.”

_“There are many schools of study which involve capes and their powers Ms. Hebert, including several that even a teenager like yourself could be a part of. But that subject is for another day. Now please, if you would be so kind.”_

“…Right, sorry.”

I left that mystery of what just happened behind me and brought my power back up along my arms, once again watching the wisps of gas-light dance across my skin.

 _“… if you are having difficulty, then it might be a mental issue rather than a powers one,”_ Alexandria interjected after several moments.

_“It isn’t uncommon for new capes to have some trepidation involving the use of their powers, particularly if they are forced to use them in a way that doesn’t mesh with standard social conventions. Ms. Hebert, what happened at Winslow wasn’t your fault and you shouldn’t let it stop you from living your life, trust me, that path holds nothing but a life not worth living.”_

Despite the situation of her being there, Alexandria’s words released some hidden tension in my shoulders. For most people, their words would ring hollow when they spoke of me and Winslow, about how I would get over it in time. Because people _died_ because of me, why should I and _how_ could I just live my life like it never happened?

But Alexandria? The words meant something coming from her. The Protectorate was set up as a counter to help stop capes from killing each other and others, to bring the ‘Wild West’ of capes under control. Part of that meant having to kill people so that others could live.

I didn’t envy her, having to live with that choice, to make the decisions to take lives, but her having made those chooses meant of all people, she would best understand my feelings about Winslow.

And likely my feelings about my power as well.

Could some part of me be holding back out of fear of another Winslow?

Well, the answer was obviously _yes,_ but it was still something that I had to wrap my head around.

Was my power at a limit of what I could make it do, or was _I_ the hold limiting it?

… Maybe I was holding back.

Perhaps it was because of Winslow, my fear of what could happen if I didn’t keep a tight leash on things, but I could feel the Well beside and within me, how it ebbed and rippled around me, barely touching upon what I could do with it.

Wait, _how did I know that?_

… there was definitely something to the whole ‘instinctual’ thing. A _Geas_ of sorts, something that was intrinsically linked to the power in question.

I had the fear of another Winslow in my heart, of killing others with my power, yet… I didn’t want this specter to have any more control over my life, I’d lived someone else calling the shots for you.

So, I stopped holding back, and let the power run within my arms freely.

And nothing happened… well, not really.

My Well, the River, it built up, I could feel it ripping in, ready and waiting for me to use it. And from there…

I watched my fingers as I flexed them, how my muscles shifted over the top of my bones as I told them to move. Before, back in the bathroom, I stroked my power, bring it to the surface like I was doing now. What would happen if I _controlled_ the flow? If I pushed or pulled it down a path I wanted?

… my arms would be the easiest I figured, I already knew that I could do something there, so I pointed my left hand at the target, the one that wasn’t behind the shield, and _pull-_

**_BBWHHOOOOOOOHHHhhhhksss_ **

It wasn’t a pull, it was a _push._

 _Raw_ **_un_ tamed** **_energy_** blasted from my palm, reaching out to _slam_ into the target.

The metal vanished beneath a stream of blue-white energy, all but _melting_ away from the blow, which continued on for a short while past the plate before seemingly vanishing into open space.

I only caught a glimpse of this, however, because the recoil shoved my arm back as my power spilled forward, twisting me like a top to send me crashing to the floor, and the beam following my moments.

Or the movements of my flailing hand as it were, at least until my the impact with the ground cut it off.

Dust fluttered down around me as the sounds of collapsing debris echoed in the warehouse, causing me to cough.

There was throbbing in my arm, my elbow hurt from where it was slammed into the ground, my shoulder was protesting taking the brunt of the impact, and it felt like I twisted my ankle during my fall.

But other than that, I was _fine._

I hissed as I pressed my hand into something sharp as I maneuvered myself upright, but I checked saw no blood.

Now the _target_ on the other hand…

The target had a hole burned straight through it, from the center upwards roughly the size of my head. The edges were curled, almost like something had punched its way through it, yet were smooth, with the surrounding metal being warped in a kaleidoscope of textures, ranging from swirls and lines, all the way to like someone had cut a piece out before layering other over another, forming a clear line of two different pieces.

But it was the damage that my power did to everything _else_ that had me gaping in shock from my spot on the floor.

A trail was _carved_ into concrete, ripping it away in a jagged line that zigzagged around me, traced randomly over several of the targets, cutting off their support and sending them to the ground. A support beam was cut in two, some wreckage from an old machine was sheared in half, with the beam finally ripping a hole into the roof from the angle I had landed.

The plants faired just as bad. One of the ferns was all but _gone_ and in pieces, while the other had wilted to the point that it resembled more of a fossil. Several of the flowers had been blown away and one of the pots had been broken, the dirt inside having turned into some kind of sand/mush with bits of what seemed like _glass_ inside of it.

 _… well, at least it wasn’t another ice-tree,_ I thought. _Though I don’t think that the PR-_

My arm was nearly _ripped_ from its socket as I was yanked upright. The pain blinding and overriding all my other injuries as my feet left the floor. I stumbled when they hit the ground again, nearly falling over if it wasn’t for the grip like a steel vice that engulfed my arm.

“How did you do that?!” Alexandria demanded, her grip never faltering as she pulled me along.

“What? I…”

“Alexandria! Woah there! Maybe let up on the grip?”

Assault, I caught a glimpse of his red outfit as Alexandria twisted me around, staying upright only because of her grip.

“This is now a Class 8-B-S situation,” stated Alexandria. “As such you are no longer authorized to be here.”

“Alexandria! _What are you **doing!?**_ **”**

The pounding of feet heralded Armsmaster’s arrival, and I could see him running towards us through the tears in my eyes as I once more got my feet underneath me, my other hand clawing at Alexandria’s to try and free myself.

Assault was standing nearby, the relaxed pose from before gone as he tensed up, leaning forward, arms at his sides and ready, facing me and Alexandria, who spun to face Armsmaster as he approached.

“Armsmaster, I am declaring a Class 8-B-S situation, you and Assault are no longer authoriz-”

Throughout the pain of having my arm nearly crushed, I yanked, desperate to free myself. When grasping at her arm didn’t work, I switched to reaching out to push at her side, pleading, “Stop! I don’t -you’re _hurting m-“_

I didn’t get to finish as my world _spun_ , my arms getting twisted behind me in a second while the ground rushed up to greet me and I didn’t know what was happening and wanted out _out **out!**_

The world shifted and altered in a familiar way. A swirl of blue-white light encircled around me, and the pain on my arm all but vanished as I jerked it away by _floating_ _through_ Alexandria.

I scrambled away from the hero, the world around me feeling like I was pushing through water, and half fell to the ground away from the group, tucked into a ball to protect my injured arm.

Meanwhile, Alexandria had leapt upward and was now floating several feet in the air, rapidly looking around for me while the other two heroes talked.

“What's the play, Bossman?” Assault asks. Like Alexandra, he was looking around, but also was keeping the flying hero in view as he slowly slid across the ground.

Armsmaster, on the other hand, was addressing Alexandria, his voice stern and steady. Even as I stood, pushing back against the world to get distance from Alexandria.

Did I walk closer to the other pair? Or just move towards the exit or someplace to hide?

“Ma’am, Class 8 situations deal with powers capable of destroying buildings. While given the damage at Winslow I understand the rating, the B and S annexes deal with the range of the power in question, as well the PRT threat level, respectively. By declaring Taylor S Class, you are effectively placing her in the same threat category as the _Slaughterhouse Nine,_ to say nothing of the fact that you simply _cannot do that._ All S-class threats require three Thinkers to verify the situation before it can be declared as such and isn’t something even _you_ can just declare.”

Alexandria didn’t even bother to look at Armsmaster when she replied.

“There are exceptions in place when dealing with capes whose powers have either been changed by anothers or have second Triggered, as well as powers that either can be shared or propagate themselves, such as Teacher or the Butcher. For that reason, I am enacting Article 17d of the PRT and declaring Taylor Herbert to be detained immediately pending investigation into her powers.”

From within me, I could my power drain from its use, but not from the Well, that remained vast and ever-present as ever. Instead, it was some kind of internal Reservoir from within me that was draining; with every second of being invisible was one less second that I had to _be_ invisible.

And I somehow knew _exactly_ how much time I had left before my control over my power faded.

“I feel I should point out that she came to us willingly,” Assault pointed out. “Also, she is still here by the way, unless she figured teleported instead of becoming invisible, so maybe instead of treating her like a criminal, we should be trying to, you know, find her? Or get her to come out? Though that might be hard when the cast-iron bitch is on the warpath.”

That last part wasn’t _quite_ spoken soft enough to be considered a mutter, though the way Assault didn’t flinch when Alexandria glared at him made me think that was the point.

“I’ve been dealing with powers and capes far longer than you _Assault_ , of everyone here I should be well qualified in making decisions about powers. And she’s not just invisible, she’s also incorporeal, even if you knew where she was you wouldn’t be able to do anything abo-“

Time ran out, and with a swirl of light and a subtle _Wvooh_ , I was no longer invisible.

And about a dozen feet away at max.

Near instantly I could feel my Reservoir refilling, but with how fast Alexandria spun to look at me, I knew that I wasn’t going to get the time I needed to slow-boat my way out of everyone’s sight.

Faster than I could _blink_ , Alexandria was right on top of me.

My shoulders were jarred ached as the hero grabbed me by the wrists and _forced_ them behind my head, interlocking and crossing my arms at my neck to do so.

She didn’t yank me off my feet this time, but it was near thing. Her grip was like iron bars upon my wrists, and the way she was grabbing me made any sort of meaningful moment impossible, even then I still struggled, doing nothing but making Alexandra’s face tighten.

**_“Alexandria!”_ **

“I’ve _seen_ this power before Armsmaster,” Alexandria defended, shifting her grip as I tried to yank my arms free. I may have even tried kicking her.

“I’ve fought against its users several times, I know what it can do.”

“That would be quite impossible, ma’am,” Armsmaster countered. “Taylor is only a recent trigger, and she has limited contact with any other capes, to say anything of others that could give powers.”

“I don’t know if they all share powers, if it was something that was cape-made or a quirk of the powers in question, but I have seen these _exact_ powers before. The Clans.”

I paused in my attempts to free myself, the Clans? The name didn’t ring a bell, but there were tons of cape groups out there, and not everyone pulled things like Teacher or the Elite.

Still, who were the Clans? And what did they do to drive Alexandria to act like this to _me?_

“… do you really believe that Taylor, a sixteen-year-old girl, is a member of an international shadow organization?!”

“I believe that it might be a powers situation,” Alexandria snapped. “The Clans came out of nowhere, with weapons and skills far beyond what most were capable of at that time; even now we are hard-pressed to match what they are capable of doing. Do I believe that Taylor is a member? No. But I do know that the only thing we _truly_ know about powers it we you know almost _nothing_ about them, and that there are no limits to what they can do.”

“It is possible that Taylor's power isn’t what I think it is, but it is just as likely that she has been just unlucky enough to Trigger with some unknown part of the Sleeper’s power, and that she’ll vanish in a few days and never be seen again, just as it’s easily possible that one day she’s killed wearing one of the Clans’ suits. Do I want that to happen? No, just like I don’t want to throw a sixteen-year-old girl into a dark hole to be experimented upon, but I am willing to do that no matter how badly it makes my stomach churn because someone needs to make the hard decisions. No matter how bad they are.”

“Her powers are _identical_ to a Clan member’s I’d fought, and shared reports over the years revealed that they _all_ share similar powers, even if the armor they wear differ wildly. None of us may like it, but this is what needs to be done, so _stand down Armsmaster,_ that’s an _**order.** ”_

Armsmaster wavered, and I felt something die within me.

The Tinker was _known_ within the Protectorate, he was one of the ones that stood on the posters that highlighted the major heroes. Alexandria was his _boss_ , and here he was getting an order from her to not help me.

I wanted to scream and flail, but was caught up in my fear. It was happening all over again, someone with more power than me, more backing, _more authority, and prestige._

“Ma’am-“

“You’ve done good work here Armsmaster, don’t throw it all away over something you lack perspective on.”

Armsmaster was someone that had been viewed as a frontline fighter in the Bay, the man that would run headlong into cape fights right beside Conscript, or would be credited for helping bust up a drug ring with the BBPD, break up a cape fight, or had been the one to catch a villain.

He was someone that the city _believed_ in, a hero that was hard at work fighting the villains and crime, one that worked hard because he _himself_ believed in what he was doing.

I had my problems with the PRT and Protectorate; the way the city had more villains than heroes, how those same villains walked free for years without getting caught, and if they did they ended up back on the streets within a few days, but talks with both my Dad and Mr. Rieper had made me a little more aware of the reality of things.

One would not simply defeat Lung and make the ABB go away, putting all of the Empire capes behind bars would not make the group stop being racist, it was all more complex than that.

Yet when Armsmaster backed down at Alexandria’s words, when he stood by and let someone he should have stepped in to protect get dragged away because of something she couldn’t control… it didn’t _feel_ complex, not to me.

_I hadn’t done anything wrong._

Why was _I_ the one that the world decided to shit on? What I had done to make fate choose me to be the punching bag?

What was worse was that this wasn’t an overworked shithole of a school that had dozens of students and bigger problems to deal with. This wasn’t a bully picking on one friendless kid because she knew that now one would step in to stop her and knew that no one was going to stop her from doing it.

This was _Alexandria,_ one of the strongest capes in the _world_ , fighter of Endbringers, leader of one of the best and biggest Protectorate teams, a symbol of heroes _everywhere_.

What was _I_ to _her?_

Could I do anything here at _all?_

… no, I couldn’t do anything.

But then that placed me _right back_ in the same situation that got me into this mess, and didn’t I say that I wasn’t going to let it happen again?

“Thank you Armsmaster, I’ll arrange transport for Taylor and be out of the city within a d-“

With a flex of my power I slipped my way through Alexandria hands, reaching out to push her away from me because **_fuck_** **_her_** and her issues and her sense of righteousness.

I didn’t _need_ to fight her, I just needed some space to _argue_ about this, to get my voice _out there_ rather than to slump and take the hits like before. Like I did at _Winslow_.

I _needed_ to take a stand, to made myself heard and _understood_. I wasn’t part of some global conspiracy, and if someone was coming after me because of my power was like theirs, I sure as hell didn’t want to end up brainwashed or whatever Alexandria thought this ‘Clan’ did.

And to that aim I let my arms pass through Alexandria’s, and pushed out at her own, more to get me away from _her_ than anything.

She reacted just like I figured someone like her to react, with blinding speed and precision. But it was hard to grab ahold of someone when you couldn’t touch them, and even harder when that same person could shove back without-

Alexandria screamed, a raw _primal_ sound, which sent me screaming and tumbling backwards, my footing sliding out from under me from the shock.

Most of her right sleeve was gone from where I had touched her, looking to have been burnt or eroded away, letting everyone in the room see what had happened to the skin underneath.

The skin from her wrist all the way to the elbow had been burned pure white, the flesh melted and scarred to the point that it didn’t even seem _real_.

Mid-float as she was, I was able to see the damage in its entirety, from the paleness of her now clay-like flesh, to the stretched ripples where her joints flexed.

Alexandria. Even though she named herself after the library for what she could do with her mental prowess, most people thought of her other, more physical powers first. She was strong enough to fling buses around, fast enough that she could cross cities and states in seconds, and durable enough to take hits from Endbringers and shake it off like it was nothing.

And my power ignored all of that when I shoved her away from me with glowing hands.

I felt something like ice just _encase_ my entire back, my mind just shutting down from the shock.

… I hurt Alexandria. How did I-

It was a split second, just an _instant_ , but I _knew_ , somehow. It was just _there._

The moment that Alexandria pulled her arm back, recoiling in pain from the burns (I _hurt_ Alexandria), I _knew_ … that she was _afraid_.

It popped into my mind like I had just _remembered_ it. Like it was something I had always known. Trouble was, it wasn’t _normal_ fear.

This was the ‘pants-wetting, fight or flight, don’t think straight’ _fear,_ the kind that spoke of trauma and repressed memories, the kind that had all but been forgotten in modern times, with all of its conveniences and the lack of looking over your shoulder for that predator that was hurting you while you just tried to live hour by hour, day by day.

I knew all of this and more, it all happening in the instant of Alexandria pulling her arm back and me falling back to the floor.

Something else popped into my mind at the say time, a saying, one that my mother had told me.

They hate whom they fear.

Quintus Ennius

It wasn’t even a conscious thought. One moment I was falling away from the hero in shock ( _I_ hurt Alexandria), then next I just _knew_ that I _shouldn’t be there right the-_

The world didn’t shift as much as it _blurred._

One second I was in front of Alexandria, the next, my power _flared_ and _flexed_ and _flowed_ …

And then I was _elsewhere._

I nearly lost my footing when I found myself standing on the wreckage of the targets from before, and was left wondering what just happened? When-

_CRACK_

The ground rumbled in time with the sound, a shuttering that reminded me of the one-time Brockton experienced an earthquake.

Alexandria’s had imbedded her arm into the concrete nearly up to her elbow. With the grinding of stone on stone, she pulled it free while flying up and spinning around.

_… Did Alexandria just try to kill me?_

Even as she spotted me once more, I reflexively drug up my power, yanking at it and repeating what I had done just moments before-

It was more draining then slipping into invisibility, happening in a chunk of my reserves rather than a steady decrease, but I traveled _so_ much further than that slow walk I was reduced to in that state.

I did it twice in rapid succession, feeling myself flash though the world like it was standing still, aiming for the far wall of the warehouse to escape, to get to a door somewhere-

And slammed painfully into a signpost with my shoulder.

Once more I found myself on the ground, blinking away the bright sunny light of the outside world.

The dingy streets, the echoing, _throbbing_ pain, the graffiti and leftover trash, all of it seemed so _normal_ compared to what I had just experienced that it was jarring. As if I had just taken a spill and just needed to take a moment to stand up.

But I didn’t have time to readjust, to gain my balance in either stance or mentality, as the nearby wall suddenly blew apart with a shriek of metal, fragments flinging away into the street and into neighboring buildings from the speed that Alexandria traveled through it.

I had moments to make myself invisible, _seconds_.

The ground under me _cracked_ from Alexandria’s impact, her hands closing around where I was, but passing through me harmlessly

“I know that you’re here!” the hero declared, not moving form her spot with her arms _inside me._ “I won’t fall for the same trick again! Your aura effect is different when you use your mover power!”

Panting, I rolled sideways, gathering myself up on all fours, before lurching upward to walk away.

 _Walk,_ because my _fucking_ _power_ didn’t let me do more than _that_ when I was invisible.

There wasn’t enough energy left in my reservoir for me to Dash away, I didn’t even have enough for more than _seconds_ as I was!

“Alexandria!”

Assault _flew_ though the air out of the hole in the warehouse, sliding to a stop in the street facing Alexandria.

“Uh, we might be missing a few _key_ details here, but me and Armsy are rather _concerned_ with your actions right now!”

“Stay out of this Assault, the situations is no longer your concern.”

“Well I like to think of myself as a hero, and what you’re doing right now isn’t somethin-“

With the two spoke, or more like Assault talked to Alexandria while she floated in circles with the eyes of a hawk on the lookout for me, I moved as fast as I could, hoping that a little distance between us would buy me that little more time I needed.

At least until my power ran out again.

Alexandria spun at the sound and _lurched_ at me, suddenly being _right there_ _in front of me-_

**_BBWHHOOOOOOOHHH_ **

Oh, my invisibility had a separate Reservoir from my ability to fire beams of _fuck you,_ good to know.

As in, it would have been good to know _five minutes ago_.

Still, the beam of light shooting from my wildly flailing hand was enough to get Alexandria to fly away from me in a _shock_ of air. She hovered just feet away from where the beam ended, eyeing me with a scowl as I tried not to fall over from the sudden burst of air, suddenly very happy that I had put my hair up as it blew around me.

“Whoa! Everybody. Calm. _Down!_ ”

Assault just _stepped_ in between us, likely using his power to cross the distance.

“Alexandria! This isn’t the way to do this! Stop, Before you make me do something that will likely get me killed.”

“Do you even understand what you’re doing!?” Alexandra cried. “There are _reasons_ for this! There are greater things at stake other than the life of a single _girl!_ Are you really willing to die on this hill Assault? Do you really think you can stop me from doing what needs to be done, and not face consequences of your actions?!”

“… Not really, no,” Assault admitted. “But I _do_ still have Legends phone number, what would he think about this whole thing, I wonder?”

A furious look swept over Alexandria’s face, and she _glowered_ at Assault.

“Don’t you even thin-”

A hook connected to a chain slammed into Alexandria back, and she jerked in place, spinning around to grasp it before she just _froze_.

Several heartbeats passed until I let myself take in a staggering breath.

 _What the fuck_?! Why the _fuck_ was Alexandria acting like this?

“Assault! Grab Taylor and get her out of here!”

Armsmaster was awkwardly standing in the hole in the warehouse, one hand holding up his Halberd, a frozen in place chain extending from it to the still Alexandria, her mouth open as if to shout.

“Is that-“

“Clock’s power,” Armsmaster rapidly explained. “It drains the batteries. Can’t move, my suit is powering it now. Alexandria is bad at tracking people, limited experience. I’ll deal with her, get Taylor and _go!_ ”

Assault didn’t even hesitate, in fact he was already moving before Armsmaster had finished speaking.

A few steps with the use of his power and he was right next to me, arms out, but not grabbing at me, offering.

“We should listen to the Armsbeard and _get_.”

I backed off fast. I had just been nearly _killed_ by one of the most powerful Parahumans in the _world_ , and now she was being held back by one of the more famous Tinkers out there.

All just because I had a power similar power to someone she’d fought before.

“It’s alright Taylor,” Assault assured me in a soft voice, pointedly taking a step back himself. “Trust me, I’m one of the good guys here, I’m on _your_ side.”

Laughter echoed, eerie and omnipresent, and I whirled, searching.

My Double crouched atop a nearby signpost, impossibly balanced on the small area.

_“Didn’t I tell you Kiddo? You don’t get power for free, you’ve got to pay for it somehow.”_

Glowing black eyes shifted over, his smile never leaving as he gazed upon Assault.

_“Isn’t that right Ethan?”_

“… oh, what the fuck?”

My eyes found Assault, who was staring at my Double because _he could see it._

It wasn’t just _me_ , it was _real, really real._

Assault took a step back, his eyes never leaving my Double… or would it be _his_ Double?

“Armsmaster? You seeing this?”

“It showed up when Alexandria first grabbed Taylor.”

“Fuck, ok, uhhh… game plan?”

“ _Get_ _Taylor and go._ ”

“Right.” Assault tore his eyes off the Double and spun around to face me.

“Well, I think we should get outta here, whaddaya say Tay?”

… on one hand, Assault hadn’t been a part of whatever the _fuck_ had just happened, on the other he was still part of the Protectorate, and hadn’t done anything to stop what was happening at the time.

Could I trust him? Armsmaster had trusted him, but Armsmaster also trusted Alexandria, and she nearly killed me while he was watching!

… no, I wasn’t going to deal with this right now, all the uncertainty, all the fear and unknown.

I was _done._

I needed _space_ , to _think_ , to process and decompress.

Turning, I bolted down the street -ignoring the heroes shouts, as well as-

_“There you go, running off yet again Kiddo. didn’t you say something about not doing that anymore?”_

\- and drew in my power to Dash-

Once-

Twice-

 _Three_ times.

Entire blocks flashed by, streets were crossed, and warehouses were left far behind.

I hit the ground with a stumble, feeling something in my ankle shift for a moment before I blotted it out, running as soon as I could get my feet under me.

And didn’t look back.


	29. 3.9 Firewalker

_June 7th 2006_

**_“What you interfere with now is bigger than you can imagine.”_ **

* * *

_March 30 th_

My feet pounded across the pavement, my path only being guided by the mountains in the distance. Old buildings rushed past, some decayed, with others showing some signs of life within.

I didn’t really know where I was, only that it was in the Docks and that it didn’t seem to be in the middle of Merchant territory.

And that I needed to _get away._

**_F-WOOMM_ **

Everything _blurred_ as I shot forward in a rush of white-blue light, crossing the distance of nearly a building length in an instant.

I was getting better at that, the teleporting/bolting/ _Dashing_ thing. I was getting better at the landings as well, no longer tripping up at finding my stride being _un_ interrupted, despite feeling like I was out of step.

It helped that I figured out that I needed to look at the spot where I wanted to _be_ rather than where I waited to _go_ , it stopped me from appearing a foot off the ground and stumbling.

Even after several minutes of running I failed to feel any burn within my lungs and legs. Just how much did my power allow me to push myself?

Better question: why hadn’t Alexandria caught up to me yet? Or Assault, for that matter? Both of them were fast enough to keep up with me easily.

It didn’t make sense, none of it had.

The PRT pushing for the testing session, Dragon giving me warnings about it, Armsmaster giving me several opportunities to get out of it, Alexandria being there, the whole situation added up to the point that I would be a fool to think it was all _normal_.

And my Double, if there was any doubt that it knew things that I didn’t, it was gone. The way it addressed Assault… was his name really Ethan? If it was, I had no way of knowing that, so…

Was the Double a cape then, or… something _else?_

There had been a rise of religion when capes and powers had first started showing up, with some even going as far as to call Scion the Second Coming.

There were some that still believed that, as well as places and locations that preached it to others, but the death of Vikare, the formation of the PRT and other cape agencies, the lack of Scion doing anything religious-like (aside from the whole saving people thing), and the Endbringers showing up really put a nail in what was considered ‘normal’ religions over the last few decades, leading to something of a slow decline in popularity.

And the sinking of Rome and the cults that popped up around powers (and later, the Endbringers) didn’t help things either.

Dispute all of that, churches, mosques, and temples were still around, so the idea of higher beings like angels or devils wasn’t something that I hadn’t _heard_ _of_ , but to encounter something that could fit the bill…

No, that was crazy… wasn’t it?

Panting, I slow my run, not because I felt any exhaustion, but because I had been running for long enough that I felt safe, or as safe as I could be when you were being possibly chased by someone like Alexandria.

But given that I had been running non-stop for several minutes now without seeing her, either I had lost her, or Armsmaster had stopped her from chasing after me.

Or she was about to fly in and get me in the next second, but that was being pessimistic.

I can to a stop at a gap between two buildings, a trash-filled alley that looked like it hadn’t seen any cleaning aside from rain since before I was born.

Luckily, the streets were still bare of any people, and the sky remained clear, though the latter was normal for the time of day; it was rare to see anyone in the heart of the Docks, they were likely busy keeping their heads down to avoid getting into trouble.

…. I was an idiot.

I just up and _ran_ _away_ from members of the Protectorate (albeit after a very strange situation that I wanted no part in). They probably had PRT trucks hunting me down right now.

It was just…

I covered my face with my hands and let myself fall into a nearby wall and then let gravity take me, sliding down it until I was sitting.

“Why can’t things just go _right?_ ”

Little tastes of hope and happiness, that was all I got before I would get kicked in the teeth. Most people would be over the moon to have met Alexandria in the flesh, to get the personal attention of Dragon, to speak one-on-one with Armsmaster and Assault.

For me, however, all of it ended up becoming _tainted_.

Many kids dreamed of being heroes, of fighting the ‘bad guys,’ of standing tall and protecting your city. Me? My dream was to get up in the morning, talk to my dad without wondering what to say, then go to school, do well, and then hang out with friends whose company I enjoyed and enjoyed _my_ company.

Was it all really too much to ask for me to be a _normal_ girl?

Instead, I was sitting near some rundown buildings in the Docks, feeling sorry for myself, just after nearly getting my chest caved in by Alexandria.

… speaking of which, where was I?

There were three major parts of the Docks: the first was the _actual_ docks, which took up the smallest part of the area, given it was lines and rows of the loading/unloading bays for ships. The second was the stretches of old warehouses, storage centers, and factories that were once the backbone of Brockton Bay’s import/export business. The last bit of the Docks contained assorted apartments and businesses (many of which were run down), as well as some of the city’s utility buildings.

Most of what I knew of the Docks was in a rough circle around my house, but with the faint, hazy of the Protectorate HQ shield to one direction, and the edges of the mountain range in the other, I was able to orient myself towards downtown.

I was in the old ‘commercial district,’ were some combined offices and industrial shops once set up to either support the docks, or to take advantage of the nearby import/exporting going on. It was a mix of small delis, hole in the wall food joints, random assorted shops and businesses, a number of hardware stores, and even a pair of car lots.

All of which had boarded up their door’s years ago, leaving everything to fall apart.

Generally speaking, it wasn’t safe to be here at night.

During the day everything would seem quiet, you would see a handful of people passing through, maybe catch a glimpse of a homeless person, but because of most of it being commercial, everything had ended up being abandoned and/or stripped bare over the years, leaving just the assorted questionable apartments to have any livable spaces in them.

It might be a _bit_ dangerous, given I was alone, but I could easily find my way home from here, and having a power that allowed me to cross entire city _blocks_ would make the actual travel time trivial.

Part of me wanted to go back to the warehouse, to smooth things over.

Another part just wanted to go home, go to bed, and hope it was all a dream.

… but as I lifted my arms and let my power flow, I realized that was never going to happen, not now.

There were going to be consequences for my actions, I would have to deal with it.

… later, right now I needed to get home, or at least towards home before I get picked up by the PRT.

I picked myself off the ground and started walking, drained emotionally more than physically.

With everything that had happened… I didn’t know how the PRT would respond, I might end up getting arrested for running out of a testing session, or for hurting Alexand-

Oh _god,_ I _hurt_ _Alexandria_.

I felt sick and stumbled for a few steps just _thinking_ about it. Alexandria was more than a hero, she was a pillar of the cape world. Everyone had freaked when she had first gotten hurt by the Siberian, what would happen with me? A squishy human? There were limits to my power, I couldn’t hide away forever to avoid things, power or no.

… although, if I had hurt Alexandria, then there was a chance that I could hurt the Siberian. Not that I thought I had a _chance_ fighting her, nor ever wanted to, but it _was_ something that I could bring up as a bit of a silver lining.

What had been up with Alexandria anyway? The way she spoke and acted didn’t fit with _everything_ that I expected from her, though given what she said about my power…

The Clans. I had never heard of them, but I knew little about capes and their greater organizations. I knew of a number of big-name groups world-wide (the Elite, the Zolotyye Lineyki, the King's Men, the Suits, Gesellschaft, Volsunga, the remnants of the Sentai, just to name a few), some of the corporate cape groups, several of the religious groups, and most of the local groups. I just didn't know much about them.

Which made sense considering how big the world was, there were probably dozens of cape teams in a place like New York.

Still… Alexandria was well respected and earned her reputation for a reason… if she really _had_ seen my power before, had fought people that used it… what did that mean for me?

Powers had little rhyme or reason for what they manifested. While what little information I’d found had suggested that there were rather clear connections between the situations that formed powers, and what type of powers that one received from them, there was no such relation to how powers existed, functioned, or any commonality in how they formed.

So while there were dozens (if not hundreds and thousands) of people with powers that healed them, made them bulletproof, allowed them to teleport, to shoot beams from their hands, to be able to read a room, to build things, to shapeshift, etc., each one was somehow _unique_ , with similarities only being surface deep between them all.

What that meant for me was that it was unlikely that there were hundreds of people running around that could shoot beams of blue-white light from their hands, capable of hunting Alexandria.

But that didn’t mean that there weren’t a few out there.

… Dad was going to be tough to talk to, I wasn’t going be able to keep this from him.

I had hoped that I would walk away from the testing with confidence about my power, that I would go home to dad and talk about me joining the Wards, someplace where I could get support with my power and do some good with it.

Instead, I might have ended up as a fugitive, something that I’m sure will go over _really well_ with my father.

-and what was with that _singing?_

I glanced around, as it had just been getting louder in the last minute or so, trying to see if anyone was nearby. Nothing. Perhaps it was coming from a building? Just because they looked empty didn’t mean they were, the BBPD once found nearly two hundred homeless living in a warehouse because the walls were well insulated, and it was free from rats and water because it had been stripped bare.

So maybe it was a bunch of gangers listing to music while they were holed up for the day? That was something I remembered someone talking about back in Winslow, how they hated going home because their Merchant neighbors would always be blasting music until the sunset and they left for the night.

But this humming was different, it wasn’t rap or heavy metal, it wasn’t even _country_ , all things I would expect would be blasting out in some places of the Docks. And that just made it even more confusing, because who would be listening to an _electric angelic_ _choir_ out here?

I glanced around once more, trying to see if there was an open window or door, but didn’t see any.

And now the sound… was getting closer?

Ok, enough standing around and taking a look to try and avoid thinking about what happened, even if Alexandria was far scarier than some greasy unwashed Merchant, that didn’t mean that they couldn’t do some damag-

Movement in the alley made me spin in place.

Bits of trash fluttered in the soft breeze, sending some of it twisting into the air. A plastic shopping bag fluttered, partly weighed down by its contents. Pieces of paper swirled across the ground.

The sound had stopped.

“Hello?”

The breeze faded and the trash settled, nothing else moved. A quick look to try and see if it had been a cat or some other kind of animal revealed nothing, and I wasn’t going to satisfy my curiosity by taking a closer look.

I mean, there were needles next to a pair of diapers, an overturned dumpster (which had mushrooms growing out of its side, ew), a small mountain of beer cans, and someone had placed a trash can right in the middle of the alley.

Me going in there was “How To Get Shanked 101”, I could probably end up getting a disease just by breathing in the air here.

The sounds of a car just hastened my movement, the fear of being caught in a confined space causing me to flinch away from the alley.

But when I looked down the street, I found I recognized the car- or jeep as it were.

Armsmaster’s jeep all but raced down the street towards me, and swiftly swung into my side of the street to pull up next to me with a squeal of its tires.

“Taylor, are you alright?” Armsmaster asked as soon as then the passenger door opened.

I glanced around, no Alexandria.

“… It’s fine, we had a discussion about her actions and she’d… She’s left the area already, heading back to Los Angeles.” Armsmaster informed me. “And I will be opening an investigation into her actions with both PRT _and_ the Protectorate as well.”

Well, that was nice to hear, even if was a bit… late.

It was then that I noticed the hand-shaped dent in his chest piece.

“Did she _attack_ _you?!_ ”

Had it happened because he had stepped in to protect me from her? Though to be honest I wasn’t quite able to see him _winning_ a fight against Alexandria, so what had happened?

“We had a disagreement,” Armsmaster said after a moment. “… actually, in retrospect, I said something I shouldn’t have, and she didn’t take it well. But I was able to get through to her because of it, so it was a net gain.”

Well, that meant that I didn’t have to worry about her suddenly swooping in and slamming me to the ground again.

“Taylor, please get in the vehicle, this area isn’t known for its safety. I can take us back to the warehouse if you wish to continue the _actual_ testing season.”

As much as going back to that place to get poked at and blast holes in still targets with a barely controlled power appealed to me…

“… can I go home? Because I really don’t think that I’ll be doing any more testing today.”

Armsmaster sighed. “…perhaps that will be for the best… I’ll drive you.”

As I climbed into the jeep, I reflected that nothing had gone right today. What should have been a simple event of finding out more about my power turned into an over-the-top TV action/drama, where I was the person that found themselves accused of being part of a conspiracy and ended up on the run.

Only this wasn’t a movie, and somehow, I wasn’t dead despite having _Alexandria_ chase after me.

And now I was stepping into the vehicle of one of the members of the same organization that she was in charge of.

For a moment, I stopped, glancing up to look at Armsmaster. Was this a ploy? Was he just going to take me back to the warehouse instead of my home?

… no, Armsmaster had known something was up and… well, he hadn’t _told_ me what going on, but he had tried to imply that something was up. In the end, he was still bound by rules and regulations which governed his actions, so if he had been pressured into getting me into testing my power as quickly as he could, there was little he could have done to stop it.

Especially if he didn’t know that something was _actually_ wrong and just thought that I was being pushed into testing.

In a way, he reminded me of Mrs. Knott, she made some attempts to help me with the bullying, but ultimately wasn’t able to do _anything_.

There were other factors involved, like how I was just one student of many in her class(es), but that just meant I didn’t hate her like the I did rest of the teachers for what happened.

Armsmaster _fought_ Alexandria- even if fought was too strong of a word- but he stepped in-between us, going up against not only one of the strongest capes in the world, but also the person that was pretty much his _boss._

And for that, I trusted him, so I climbed in and settled myself into the seat.

A sharp breeze rushed by, drawing my attention back outside as I closed the door. And at that moment, just as the door swung shut, I could have sworn that I heard that humming again.

But again, I saw nothing.

“Seatbelt,” Armsmaster reminded me, and I dutifully complied.

As Armsmaster shifted the jeep back into drive, I found my gaze being drawn to the alley, full of trash as it was.

The dumpsters, the piles of trash, the carelessness of people just tossing things to get rid of it, the abandonment of the area: all of it represented Brockton Bay as a whole, and it all played a part in my situation.

If the Bay had been in a better state, then Winslow wouldn’t have been such a shithole, my best friend wouldn’t have betrayed me, and I wouldn’t have Triggered. Dad would still have a good-paying job, I would still have my best friend, and Mom might have even been still alive.

But that wasn’t my hometown. Brockton Bay was dying, no matter how much people wanted to disagree.

It lasted a while longer because of Medhall and the small surge of industrial brought forth by Tāwhirimātea, but Brockton had been a shipping town first and foremost. When the Docks had fallen apart it only became a matter of time before the city did the same.

Too many people that could leave, did, meaning that business closed up as the cost of operating overcame what they earned, and from there it just snowballed.

Downtown was in better condition, but they were still reliant on the lower-class workers living out near the Docks area for the bottom-of-the-ladder jobs. Maybe the city wouldn’t become a ghost town before _I_ had kids, but by the time that I was Dad's age I didn’t foresee anyone still living here, something not that uncommon nowadays given capes and the Endbringers running around.

With the loss of the Docks, of something so vital for a city built upon shipping, the city pooled its resources elsewhere. The people that were left high and dry as things shut down and were left to decay, forced become uncaring to anything beyond survival.

In my neighborhood, places like that alley were at least taken care of every now and again by the city. Here? I was sure that it was looked over at some point during the year, if only to stop it from becoming a mini-dumping ground that spilled out into the street.

It was funny really, when I was younger, I never really noticed these kinds of things. Now, it was all too easy to pick them out. Which only made sense really, what was happening to the city directed resulted in me sitting in the here and now, heading home in a hero’s Tinker vehicle after nearly getting my head taken off by someone that was regarded across the world as a hero.

Even as the thought of, ‘how does one just go about their day after that?’ rang through my head, I realized that I didn’t need to worry too much about that, it wasn’t like I had _experience_ after all. _Everyone_ in the Bay had that, it was the only reason the city was still going after all.

Just like them, there were other things I could do to keep me going, like homework, talking to my dad, and even doing a bit of testing of my power in my basement if I felt so inclined.

Sure, meeting Alexandria had… well, calling it a disappointment would be a _massive_ understatement, and I couldn’t exactly say I saw any of it coming, but…

At least now I better understood my powers, even if that had come at a cost. Perhaps a cost too big? Even if Armsmaster smoothed things over here, I would still have to deal with the fallout later on.

… Maybe I _should_ have just kept my head down and melted back in with the background kids.

… _No_ , I would not end up falling back into my slump like before, wallowing in misery and hoping someone would step in and help me, even after I had stopped trying to help myself. The world didn’t work that way, and I didn’t want to become one of those people once more.

Brockton Bay may have been my home, but I wasn’t going to end up like it. I had something that I could leverage now, something that was _valuable_ to people. If I played my cards right, I could still walk away from all of this without getting sent to prison. It all just depended on how the PRT reacted to Alexandria's freak-out and if they tried to screw me ov-

-where did that lone trash can go?

Before I could get a good look, Armsmaster had already pulled away from the curb and was driving off, the alley swiftly fading into the distance.

* * *

The drive passed in silence, with not even the radio on to break it.

It was tough, I couldn’t guess what Armsmaster was thinking, utterly focused on the drive as he was- even if he hadn’t been wearing his helmet, I had a feeling he would still be inscrutable.

That didn’t mean that I was the same. I had so many questions I wanted answers to, like, why the hell was Alexandria so ready to kill me? She hadn’t held back once when she was chasing me, and it was only up to the fact that I could go intangible that I hadn’t been killed (or at least ended up with a bunch of broken bones).

Yet, despite her reaction to my power, she _had_ stopped chasing me, and I was left wondering what Armsmaster had done to get her to stop.

Doing so and walking away with just a dent on his armor knocked my respect for him up a few notches.

It wasn’t until I recognized that we were only a few blocks from my neighborhood that I spoke.

“Alexandria, she…”

Armsmaster spared me the tiniest of glances, but otherwise let me gather my thoughts.

A minute passed in silence before I started again.

“… why was she like that?” I asked. “I mean… it wasn’t just me, was it?”

The hero was quiet for a moment before he sighed.

“I have been wondering that myself,” he admitted. “Her reaction to your power was… extreme, and I will be having words with Piggot about it. Hopefully, she will pass my report up the chain of command quickly and the Chief Director will hear about what happened here.”

Armsmaster removed one hand from the wheel and drew it across his damaged chest piece, tracing the hand-shaped dent in it out.

“… that was _not_ the action of a proper Protectorate member, especially for the leader of the organization.”

I had to look away at that; most of what I’d experienced with the PRT or Protectorate wasn’t what I’d expected either.

“… what happens now?”

Armsmaster grunted. “You go home and go to school, act as nothing has happened; I’ll ask Dragon to contact you if anything new comes up, as well as with a basic report from the testing, for what little we got, at least. I, meanwhile, will push for an investigation into Alexandria.”

“… it was almost like she _had_ seen my power before,” I noted absently.

“Impossible, you are not the Butcher, nor have I heard of a power similar to the ones that you'd used in case you were a powers thief.”

I didn’t know what to say to that, I didn’t know much about powers either after all.

“… will you… will you get in trouble for what you did?” I managed to ask.

Armsmaster didn’t respond.

The jeep pulled to a stop in front of my house. It was still early in the day, so I had a few hours to figure out what I was going to tell Dad.

I wasn’t going to keep this from him, not after what had happened.

“… I’ll do what I can on my side of things,” Armsmaster informed me. “If something happens and I’m unable to inform you about it, I’ll send Miss Militia in my stead.”

That sounded ominous, but he was talking about speaking out against _Alexandria._

“… What about my- the Double?”

Armsmaster sighed and leaned back in his seat.

“Truth be told Taylor, Master and Stranger powers are considered the worst not because of they can do, but because of how they make people _act_.”

“Someone loses their job to someone else? They must have Mastered the boss, they must have a Stranger power. The PRT fields calls like that all day, every day. Many turn out to be fake, even the ones that seem real, but the potential is there that there really _was_ a cape Mastering his boss for a pay raise, so we need to check.”

“For your power… unless you are capable of beating both PRT surveillance and my own lie-detecting software, I doubt you are the consciously the cause for the Double. Furthermore, throwing you into a cell might not stop it from manifesting, and it might take months, if not years for you to fully understand and control the depths of your power. What good would locking you away do for anyone, other than to do it ‘just in case?’”

“… and if you were ordered to?” I ask.

Armsmaster huffed.

“I would not do it like Alexandria just tried, that’s for sure. The fact is that while you _are_ the best candidate for the source of the Double, the evidence is flimsy given the global nature of its appearances, and if the only good that locking you away would be us feeling like we have some control, then what would be the point? Look what has happened to Canary and her trial, protests are happening outside PRT HQs all across the country over it. While you might not be famous, as it stands even a mediocre lawyer could sell the same angle to a judge.”

So I likely _wasn’t_ going to get tossed in prison because the PRT was more concerned about what it would look like it if I did, good to know.

That didn’t mean that something was going happen to me, and I voiced such to Armsmaster.

“… Piggot will do what she can, but her views and ideas on capes will push her in a different direction. I believe that she will side with yo- _us,_ on the principle of the matter, but if orders came down that you were to become a probationary Ward in another District, then she’d shrug and move on. Even with my recordings, she’ll be more focused on the PRT/Protectorate as a whole, rather than you.”

Ah, one of those bureaucrat types that dad would sometimes talk about. Given the state of the Bay, I could understand her having a lot on her plate... even with Conscript being a hard counter to most of the Empires capes, there were only so many places one person could be.

Plus, no-one really wanted a repeat of San Diego; even if the gang basically _were_ just modern-day Nazis, the Bay didn’t need their blood running through the streets, we had enough problems as it was.

‘Though word was that Kaiser was smart enough to avoid the Saint of San Diego and always disciplined his followers whenever they got into fights with them.

The jeep pulled up to my house, and both of us sat for a minute, awkwardly. I wasn’t quite ready to go and face my dad, and Armsmaster wasn’t forcing me to leave so…

“… I feel that I should apologize to you for my actions,” Armsmaster said suddenly. “This whole situation… even though the protocols involving new capes are more like guidelines, in your situation, you should have been treated better. None of this should have happened.”

“… I, I don’t think that there was really much you could _do,_ ” I said. “Unless you could order around Alexandria and haven’t told anyone.”

Armsmaster sighed and reached up to grasp at his helmet. there was a _click_ and then he removed it.

“No, you are wrong about that, there was something I could do.”

I put Armsmaster in his late thirties, with dark-brown hair that matched his beard. Good jawline, sharp eyes, well kept. He wasn’t ruggedly handsome, but I easily would still call him attractive.

(It was amazing what could go through your mind at times)

He glazed over at me, watching for a moment, before extending a hand to me.

“Colin.”

“… Taylor,” I said after taking his hand in shock.

And immediately closed my eyes in embarrassment.

Colin huffed in amusement. “I am aware.”

I didn’t know how to feel about this, there were laws in place about this kind of thing, rules, both written and Unwritten.

Colin, however, must have not shared my concerns, before he continued speaking as if everything was perfectly normal.

“While I _was_ limited in how to deal with Alexandria, I was referring to _you._ ”

Colin ran an armored thumb over the glass of his helmet, his eyes forced on something beyond what he held in his hands.

“… I wasn’t insincere when I told you and your father that you Triggering was my fault, due to my position. As the leader of the Protectorate here in the Bay, it falls upon _me_ to manage both its members and the Wards, something that I have come to realize that I’ve… somewhat failed in. No matter what the events or situation, I should have _seen,_ should have _known,_ what Hess was up to, what she was doing. The fact that I didn’t…”

I let the man collect his thoughts, because despite the swirling confusion, the _justifiable anger and rage_ at the man for something that was within his power to stop, because I had been picked on and beat down for two years and nearly died because he _hadn’t been doing his job_ …

What would me getting angry at him achieve? It had all already _happened_ , Sophia was gone, the school was closed and slated for demolition, and I had something like friends now

At this point, I was just… tired, of my past hovering over me. I just wanted to move one.

“… my drive made me a good _hero_ , but I believe that along the way… there are things that I probably should have done better, rather than pushing them aside in pursuit of my own goals. The fact that it took you Triggering and all that became of it to make me see this…”

Armsmaster trailed off, leaving us in silence.

… how was I supposed to deal with this? How does _anyone_ deal with someone baring their heart, to them?

I suddenly had a much better understanding of my dad, just days before it had been _me_ in Colin's position, wondering about my life and my actions in it. Only I wasn’t the one with years of life experience here, I didn’t know how to address personal issues about adult lif-

Wait…

“… I don’t think there was anything you could have done about Sophia,” I told Colin. “She was… there was something _wrong_ with her, with how she acted. It was _her_ choice to do the things she did.”

“And you’ve made mistakes, sure… and they might be rather big ones, that doesn’t mean you can’t learn from them, grow from them, change to be a better person than you were before.”

Colin hummed after a moment. “That is… surprisingly wise words coming from you Taylor.”

I hid my wince, and tried not to take his words personally, after all, “Thanks, I got them from my dad.”

Colin hummed again. “… Speaking of which, I believe it is time for you to return home.”

“Yeah, I uh, won’t tell anyone about knowing how you are?” I half ask, given the whole Unwritten rules thing, but given what had just happened…

“That should be rather… yes, it would be for the best,” Colin confirmed. “I’ll be in touch when I have news, and I will arrange to have your stuff returned to you as well.”

My bag. With everything that had happened I had forgotten it.

Ugh, so much for being prepared.

“Thanks.”

“Though it will take a few days for replacements for your glasses, as you’ll have to provide the information for those.”

My glasses? What was he-

Touching my face, I found that I wasn’t wearing my glasses, yet… my vision was _fine._

When had…?

“Something wrong?”

I glanced over at Colin. “I, I hadn’t noticed I was missing them.”

“Really?” Colin asked, one eyebrow raised. “Based upon your medical file, your vision is rather bad.”

Shaking my head, I said, “… not anymore.”

When had I lost my glasses? I had put them on when I left the house and hadn’t taken them off at any point, hadn’t I?

… the warehouse, when I had used my power. I had been flung to the floor from the recoil, to say nothing of what had happened afterward.

“In what way? Improved vision, or averaged? Any blurriness or adjusting for distance? Are there any other changes you haven’t noticed? Take a moment to check.”

Just like that, it was Armsmaster in the jeep, not Colin.

“Uh…” I took a moment to cast my gaze around, trying to see if there was any difference in my vision as I looked.

“… not really? I mean, I’ve dealt with my bad eyesight for so long that I don’t know _how_ to compare it to this.”

And really, going from struggling to see to suddenly being about to read street signs _down the street_ , while also able to read Armsmaster’s radio and dashboard with no difference or blur, was disorientating.

No, that was the wrong word. It more like disconcerting, because even with my glasses switching from far to near had taken me a second to adjust. To no longer have to do that…

“A healing factor perhaps? Or restoration?” Armsmaster slid his helmet back on and muttered for a moment, his gaze far away.

“… I don’t suppose that I can convince you to come into the PRT HQ for a complete physical? There may be more biological changes going on that you are not aware of.”

I must have made a face because Armsmaster next sighed and said, “I thought as much, still, if you happen to notice any other changes note them and inform the PRT if possible, particularly if those changes are drastic, even if they are minor. It would be… bad, if you found yourself altering physically throughout the day.”

Yeah, it would be a _thing_ if I suddenly grew scales or was able to leap on top of the school building from ground level.

People tend to notice stuff like that.

“Ok, I’ll… just go back to my life, I guess.”

Armsmaster simply nodded at me.

It was as I was getting out that the thought hit me.

And with one hand on the door, I faced Armsmaster, looking just as intimidating as ever, even with the dent in his chestpiece.

“… for what it’s worth, I think you’re a good man Armsmaster.”

Then I shut the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Assault was left behind to watch over the equipment and warehouse, it gets brought up later in a future side chapter which also addresses just What The Fuck happened after Taylor left.   
> Why didn’t Armsmaster mention it? Why would he? Why didn’t Taylor mention it? She was a bit busy thinking about other things at the time.  
> This being said, there might be a delay on the next chapter, as I realized that the side story mentioned above would work so much better before the next chapter (which I haven’t finished at the time last week’s chapter), so I need to work on that as well.


	30. Coolant Leak

Armsmaster entered his workshop on the Rig, locking the door behind him. 

Calling it a workshop was a slight understatement, even though it also doubled as the hero's sleeping area and office. The only reason that it ‘counted’ as an office, however, was because while Armsmaster had filled the walls to the brim with shelves and racks, both hidden and not, there was a set of file cabinets tucked to the side of his main workbench. 

Two suit racks stood at one side of the room, the one sitting in the space that Armsmaster currently wasn’t wearing having minor functional differences. A spare Halberd was placed on a rack behind Armsmaster’s desk. One of the spaces on the rack was empty and Armsmaster took his weapon of choice off his back to slot it into said space. 

Walking over to the empty mannequin, Armsmaster began to take his armor off, starting with his helmet, lifting it off after disconnecting it from the connecting neck brace. 

For a moment, Colin looked at his helm, tracing the armor with his fingers, from the angled v of the visor, to the thin lines that separated the different parts of the helmet. Colin was able to see himself in the visor, a reflection of his eyes and face. 

Then he threw it across the room with a roar. 

It hit the far wall with a _clang_ and _crunch_ , and a distant part of his mind told him that it had been damaged, but the part running the show at the moment didn’t care. 

Both mannequins weren’t spared from Colin's wrath, throwing them to the ground with angry shoves. The empty one broke at one of the arms; the spare suit managed to land undamaged, but it wasn’t spared any further. He used his strength to lift the whole thing up by the stand and one of its arms and it followed his helmet across the room. 

It rammed into his workbench, knocking tools, notes, and gear to the floor. For several moments Colin stood in the wreckage, shaking, while he breathed heavily. 

The feeling of exhaustion hit Colin just as suddenly as his rage, and with shaky legs, he managed to get to his workbenches chair, before collapsing into it. 

With a stuttering breath, Colin ran his hands over his face, feeling his beard and short-cropped hair. Clutching his face in his hands, he leaned forward until his arms were resting on his legs, and breathed deeply. 

It could see it, all the years of work, all of what he’d sacrificed, all of what he’d given to the PRT, _gone._

And all it took were some heated words and a single decision. 

What had overtaken him, to confront the leader of the Protectorate, _fucking Alexandra_, like that? To just… throw away everything over a single girl’s feelings? 

… he knew why. The image of Taylors face just after she used her power to punch a hole through a layer of solid steel and concrete came to mind. 

Things had made sense once, before Winslow, before _Taylor_. 

Years of Tinkering, of fighting the war on the side of law and order, of stepping up to the plate for anything that the Protectorate asked of him, of going from strike teams to supporting a team, to _leading_ one. 

Building his gear, designing his suit, and later his Halberd, improving upon it, redesigning it, improving _himself_ , organizing the ENE Protectorate, training the team, the Wards, stepping up to battle the crime of Brockton Bay… 

Colin sighed heavily and leaned back, casting his gaze to the ceiling, and let the events of earlier in the day wash over him. 

* * *

_“Taylor!”_

“Assault wait!” cried Armsmaster. “She's gone! Leave her be and help me with Alexandria!” 

The red-suited hero hesitated for a moment, gaze still at where Taylor had vanished down the street, little wisps of blue fire fading away down the street. 

_‘That was new,’_ reflected Armsmaster. _‘Because of her emotional state? She hadn’t been trailing fire in the warehouse…’_

“… Right.” Assault hopped/leap over to Armsmaster. “What do you need Boss?” 

“Grab her leg.” 

“…I’m guessing you have a plan here? Please tell me you have a plan.” Assault's voice was desperate as he moved towards the time-frozen Alexandria, and a more than a little panicky, but that was understandable to Armsmaster. 

“Because my power doesn’t work when I’m in the- _oof._ ” 

It was a clumsy catch, but Assault managed to hold onto Armsmaster’s Halberd, the one he was using he had ran back for and left Assault to face Alexandria alone. 

“Stand on it!” Armsmaster demanded. “If you can take on Hookwolf while laughing in his face as he tries to kill you, you can manage a balancing act!” 

“Oh! So you _are_ pissed about that!” Assault declared as he implied the weapon into the ground. “I was worried that Piggot had done something to you since you didn’t chew me out over – Hey! I’m doing this!” 

“Having something to hold onto likely helps,” said Armsmaster dryly. 

It was a strange sight to see, Assault somehow standing atop the staff of Armsmaster’s Halberd, both of his arms reached out to hold onto the frozen Alexandria’s legs. Were it not for Assault's power, Armsmaster doubted that he would have managed. 

‘Course, Assaults power was to manipulate kinetic energy, not remove or ignore it… 

“… you will never speak of this.” 

Armsmaster nodded. “I’ll be as vague as possible in the report.” 

Assault shot Armsmaster a _look;_ redirecting the energy from would normally be causing him to slip and fall off into his hands, forcing him to stroke Alexandria’s leg like it was a cat. 

“… it’s moments like this that you really appreciate the fucking powers bullshit, right?” 

“Yes. Now, on three, I’m going to cut the power.” 

“And you want me to slam Alexandria into the ground when she tries to fly off?” guessed Assault. 

“Not my best plan,” Armsmaster conceded. “But given her reaction times and her actions, it’s the best one I have at the moment.” 

Assault sighed deeply. 

“… Alright then, hit it.” 

“One…t-“ 

“You better not tell Battery about this Armsmaster!-“ 

“-wo…-“ 

“Or so help me god!-“ 

_“Three!”_

There was the sound of rolling thunder as Alexandria reacted in the seconds after the time-stop effect ended. Armsmaster lost his grip on his weapon as it was snapped away, while Assault found himself suddenly in a crater in the asphalt. 

Armsmaster was quick to speak, even as the formerly frozen hero shot into the air. 

“Alexandria! _Stand down!”_

The hero in question spun in place for a moment, seemingly ignoring Armsmaster, before she paused, and floated back down to hover nearby. 

“… I am hoping that Taylor either left of her own accord and was not taken by someone else?” she asks, her tone like stone. 

“What were you _thinking!?_ ” Armsmaster demanded. “Your actions just now were entirely uncalled for!” 

Alexandria stared at Armsmaster for a few moments, her face unreadable. 

“… my actions might be considered… _extreme_ , and I _can_ see that… but I stand by what I said earlier, and will point out that _I have data you lack.”_

“This does not give you the right to ignore established protocols! And yes! I do know about Article 17d! And as the leader of the local Protectorate team, I am overruling it pending a secondary investigation via Article 37c!” 

“Don’t mind me, just pulling myself out of a hole here,” muttered Assault in the background. 

“Be careful Armsmaster, don’t forget that I am the leader of the Protectorate,” stated Alexandria. “I helped _write_ the Articles for the Protectorate. Your call to use Article 37c can be overruled by either Legend or Eidolon, both of whom not only know the things I do, but will back up decision my because of it.” 

“I am well aware of the power both of us have, as well as our _limits of that power,”_ countered Armsmaster. “Just as I am aware that I can invoke Article 8e, something that will be fast-tracked not only because of my experience and the fact we’ve worked together many times, but also because I have _cameras in my helmet.”_

Alexandria took in a breath… 

Then floated down to the ground, coming to a stop to stand in front of Armsmaster, arms set at ease. 

“… There is more happening in the wider world outside Brockton Bay Armsmaster,” explains Alexandria. 

A rapidly raised hand forestalls Armsmaster. “No, let me finish.” 

The Tinker visibility pulls himself back, pursing his lips, and nods at the female hero, letting her continue. 

“… the Clans are _untouchable_ ,” Alexandria states after a few seconds. “And even after all of these years, are a massive blank spot for the intelligence agencies of the world. What little we know paints them as some of the most powerful capes in the world, yet they never show up at Endbringer fights, answer to no one, and have access to tech advanced and powerful enough to take on the Blasphemies and clean up an oil spill that covers hundreds of nautical miles.” 

“Furthermore, I have _personally_ fought them on several occasions, I have seen them without their suits, and Taylor Hebert's power matched what they could do, _precisely_. So, before you do something that will have consequences _for us both_ , I suggest you think long and hard about what you want to do.” 

Armsmaster was still for a time, clearly thinking about Alexandria's words. 

“… I’ve always seen myself as a soldier,” admitted Armsmaster “Standing for order against chaos, fighting for mankind against the likes of Slaughterhouse Nine and the Endbringers. It’s a war on a dozen fronts, with those that slink in the shadows always ready to cut us down if we dropped our guard.” 

“But yet I’ve always seen myself as a _hero_ , one that would uphold the laws of the world, to protect and serve, standing on that thin line that separates them from us, but never crossing it.” 

“And based upon what I’ve seen today, _you’ve crossed that line today Alexandria_ , and I for one and _deeply_ concerned with your actions today.” 

“Sometimes our job calls for ugly choices to be made,” snaps Alexandria. “I’ve _hated_ this job sometimes, how it falls upon _me_ to pick and choose how things go down, knowing that there will be people that will act as if they know better, could have done better than me. Yet I never waver, never made plans to walk away from it all. I _stand_ by my actions and decisions, including these ones, no matter what you think of them!” 

“I believe the quote that works for you here is this, ‘the road to hell is paved with good intentions,” declares Armsmaster, standing tall. “For while I understand your reasoning _, I don’t believe you acted the part of a hero today._ And another’s words would likely do better to hammer that point home.” 

“… We choose to serve in this position, to put our lives on the line for others, not because it is are easy, but because it is hard. Because this goal will serve to organize and measure the best of our energies and skills, because that challenge is one that we are willing to accept, one we are unwilling to postpone, and because this fight it one we intend to win, as well as the others. President Kennedy said this about the moon landing, and while I paraphrased, and I believe his words fit with what we are trying to achieve; to take the steps forward in these strange and new times, to protect others that need it, to be a shining beacon for all others like us…” 

Alexandria rushed forward, and it was likely only due to her skill with her power that she didn’t plow Armsmaster down and slam him into the warehouse wall. 

“Don’t you _dare_ use his words against me!” 

There was _silence_ in the street, broken only by the groaning of metal. 

Armsmaster looked down at his chest, where Alexandria had dented the metal with her hand, then slowly back up at the female hero. 

Alexandria did the same. They locked eyes for several moments, neither yielding for a _second._

“… I think it’s best for you to go now Alexandria.” 

“Yah think?!” 

Both heroes turned their heads to look at Assault, who shuffled sheepishly and backed off with a limp, his hands out in front of him. 

“Right, _walking away_ …” 

The stare done resumed for several moments, before… 

Armsmaster grunted as Alexandria removed her hand from his chest, the metal flexing as she did so. 

The leader of the Protectorate sighed deeply, visibly settling herself. 

“… perhaps I should leave, it is clear that… well, I am not fully myself at the moment.” 

“And I bet you’re not going to explain _why?_ ” snarked Assault. 

Alexandria glowered at the man. 

“Of all people here, I would have thought that it would be _you_ that understood about keeping secrets.” 

Assault shrugged. “My past isn’t much of a secret, not to me at least. The PRT and you guys keep making a big deal out of it though.” 

Alexandria’s face was like stone, unmoving, as she seemingly realized she found no ground with the other two heroes. 

“… I believe I will take my leave then,” she states, floating upwards. “And when the time comes that this situation comes to a head, then I hope that the damage caused by it isn’t too severe. Armsmaster, Assault.” 

“Ma’am!” 

Alexandria paused, glancing back down at Armsmaster. 

“I am formally informing you that your actions here today are unbecoming of your position, and I will be providing my camera footage involving the events of today to Director Piggot, Regional Coordinator Smith, as well as the Chief Director in order to open an investigation into your conduct.” 

The two heroes stared down at each other, one hovering still, the other tensed up, ready for anything. 

“I understand… I look forward to seeing that report as well, _Armsmaster.”_

With a muffled _boom_ , Alexandria left, launching her way up into the sky. 

Assault glanced over at Armsmaster. 

“Do you have a death wish or something?” he demanded. “Quoting _Argonaut_? I know you don’t put much stock in rumors, but _come on!_ You’ve worked with most of the Sliver Seven at one point! _Right?!_ You had to have seen and heard _something_ about them!” 

Armsmaster ignored the other hero and got moving, scooping up his Halberds as he dished out orders. 

“Watch over the gear inside until the PRT recovery van swings by, I’m going to find Taylor and hope that Alexandria really _did_ leave.” 

“Should _I_ be the one that finds her?” asks Assault as he follows Armsmaster towards his Jeep. “I mean, I’m faster and can look around easier as I move.” 

Armsmaster shook his head, opening the rear door and tossing his equipment in. “No, you’re injured. Furthermore, this is _my_ responsibility, and I don’t want to scare her by having you show up instead of me. We have something of a rapport.” 

“You have a rapport with someone? That doesn’t seem like you.” 

Armsmaster paused as he got into his vehicle, before slamming the door shut. 

“… well, it seems like we’re both learning something new today.” 

* * *

What had possessed him to bring up _Argonaut?_ It was something of an open secret that they had been close, with nothing being confirmed, but anyone that had known them could tell that there had been something there. 

What had overtaken him to act that way!? 

His words and actions had been correct in the grand scheme of things, but it didn’t change the underlining fact he had _threatened the woman that was effectively his boss._

If any part of this went badly…. 

Colin let another sigh out, thinking over things as best as he could. 

Everything had seemed so simple all those weeks ago, but then Winslow had happened, and Colin had wanted _-needed,_ to know what had really happened there. 

So he launched his own investigation, one separate from the PRTJ and the Youth Guard. 

Hess was a _Ward,_ after all _,_ someone _he_ was reasonable for training and guiding down the path to being a productive member of cape society. Her actions were a black mark upon his record, upon the ENE Protectorate and PRTs record, and she _needed_ to be held accountable for them, just as he _needed_ to know how she had managed what she did so he could find a way to stop it from happening again. 

He discovered that part of the events surrounding Winslow were out of the control of the handlers and the PRT; Hess had been undergoing her campaign against Taylor long before she had been pressed into the Wards, but even considering her ‘good behavior’ as an attempt to lay low for a while, _something_ should have stood out during the time they were keeping an eye on her. 

Looking deeper, Colin himself discovered he _himself_ was somewhat responsible for what happened at Winslow; as the teacher and manager of the Wards he _should_ have caught on to what Hess was doing, he should have listened to Aegis and Triumph, _hell,_ even Assault had spoken to him about Sophia, but he had dismissed them, as he had done the paperwork and passed things off to the right people regarding what he’d seen from her so far and left it at that.

Yet, it was his own _inaction_ that bought everything that happened about, his failings as a hero and a leader. 

That had been a tough pill to swallow, and a difficult one to track down. 

At first, as far as Colin had been able to tell, it was all bad luck; bad luck that Taylor was being bullied, bad luck that it happened to be from a Ward, bad luck that said Ward had already ruined Taylors credibility and was taking advantage of a decaying and overworked school system combined with the PRTs near-desperate need for more capes, even ones with spotty records. 

Colin hadn’t believed that. Maybe it was the state he found Taylor in, maybe it because Hess was under his command. 

Or maybe it was the words of _his_ Double, but Colin had dug deeper, trying to figure out what had happened. So he looked deeper.

And found it circled back to him. 

_He_ was the one that ignored rising issues and complaints from the rest of the Wards, setting up team-building exercises that did little to address the real problems. _He_ was the one that took note of Sophia's background and personality traits and then did little correct them outside reports and discipline according to protocol. 

All the while Colin directed his energy towards his _own_ training and Tinkerings, making plans for patrols and how to take down threats both in the city and without. 

The most sobering thing about this fact was that it was _Ethen_ of all people that provided the answer that he was looking for, as upon asking him (during an attempt to see if it was his underlying personality traits, or a simple error in judgment), Ethan’s rather blunt examination of Colin's character striping him down to a handful of words. 

Harsh. 

Obsessive. 

Prideful. 

Compensating. 

Anti-social. 

_Conceited._

Ethen and Colin nearly came to blows over that last one, with Linda having to get between them. 

But the words had forced Colin to look into his own actions, and _why_ Ethen had picked them. 

Colin knew that most people mesh with him, or that _he_ didn’t mesh with _them_. He understood that they didn’t fit into the boxes that he assigned them or the world into, that people were flexible and unpredictable, that not everyone was as _focused_ as he was. 

Yet there was a fundamental difference between acknowledging that people had different thoughts, patterns, and ideas, and _comprehending_ that fact. 

What had started as a simple investigation into the actions of one bully, had turned into the uncomfortable examination of something that Colin had always had taken for granted. 

_Was he a good hero?_

The word was a nebulous concept at best, as it was used for all sorts of people in all kinds of fields and actions. But while Colin as Armsmaster had fit the bill for one of the more ‘traditional’ usages of the word, he had realized that he might fit the more expanded understanding of it. 

Specifically, while he was a hero, did that make him a _good person?_

This led to Colin saying several things not appropriate for public speaking to Ethan, and Ethan nearly using his power to punch him in the face.

Yet somehow, despite the words that they had hurled at each other, including several insinuations that Colin had made about Ethan and Linda's relationship (both in the personal and professional side), Ethan later showed up at his workshop and dragged him out into the world for a cup of coffee. 

What Colin had expected to be an apology, turned into a surprisingly interesting conversation about people, one that Colin looked back and found himself enjoying. 

Ethan was rather astute, easily able to figure people out, and break them down. 

The fact that he was able to deuce Hannah’s potential Trigger, as well as his own, just by having watched them over the years was distributing. 

He also explained _why_ he picked the words that he did, knowing that it would get a reaction as well as make him _think_ _about them._

What followed was a breakdown of not only Colin but the rest of the team, including even Piggot, Rennick, and the Wards. 

It had been an… interesting conversation, one that had been both informative and helped bridge the newfound gap between the two men as Ethan had ended up getting him drawn into a conversation about ideas, concepts, and morality. 

(Colin was struck with the need to take another look at Ethan's background because the man he had talked to at that café was seemly a different person than the one he had known for years. Even if it was limited scope, how did he know so much about psychology anyway?) 

It hadn’t smoothed things over between them, but Colin no longer felt the need to defend himself against Ethan anymore and was able to head back to the Rig with him. 

‘Though Colin had still wanted that apology. 

(Ethan countered with the fact they were men, they didn’t do the sappy stuff. Colin countered with the idea of gender roles and expectations around them being foolish. Ethan had laughed and conceded the point, providing the wanted apology. 

Then he went on to point out that he wasn’t the only one affected by that fight, and his words might have been directed at _Ethan_ , but there was _collateral._

Somehow, having to talk to Linda about his actions and conduct was by far one of the hardest things he had done in his adult life) 

None of this, however, changed the fact that Colin had discovered he had been failing in his wider duties as a hero. 

While he doubted that he could match what someone like Legend had done in his life, there was a reason that people liked Mouse Protector; despite her younger age, lesser skills, and lesser achievements, she was a ‘favorite’ among fans and capes alike for several reasons. 

And while Armsmaster had _earned_ his share of acknowledgments and achievements, recent events had shifted his perspective on matters. 

Which in turn lead to this, him sitting in his lab, after telling off one of the most powerful and influential capes in the world.

… 

There was a beeping, insistent, and clearly present. 

Colin knew that beeping and part of him didn’t want to answer. 

The beeping stopped. 

… 

… 

… then there was a _ping_ of a new message. 

Then another a minute later. 

And another. 

Colin inhaled and looked up, his tired eyes finding his computer monitor. 

Stretching out his arm, he keyed up the only person that would connect him like this. 

“… hello Dragon.” 

Most of the time Dragon used an avatar when communicating, little more than her iconic symbol on the screen, but there were sometimes that she showed her face. 

This was one of those times. 

“Hi Colin…I’ve seen the report you’ve sent to Piggot, and… are you ok?” 

Colin drew in another deep breath. 

“… did you ever have a moment where you look back and realize… you have no idea how you got where you are?” 

“… more than once, so I know what you’re going through (more or less)… I’ve… I’ve seen the footage, and Piggot called me in to check it over to make sure that it hadn’t been doctored in any way… and you still haven’t answered my question, Colin.” 

Colin ran a hand through his short-cropped hair and glanced around at his lab. 

His _wrecked_ lab he notes absently. 

“This isn’t my _worst_ day… but it definitely makes the list.” 

“Ah…” 

For several moments, the pair wallowed in silence, knowing it needed to be broken, but not quite knowing how to. 

Until… 

“Do you think I am a good man Dragon?” 

If the question caught the female Tinker off guard, she didn’t show it. 

“Of course, Colin.” 

“As in, do you think I am a good person?” Colin pressed. 

“That’s relative. I know that you aren’t a _bad_ person Colin, but the people you arrest and put behind bars might have a different view of things.” 

“That’s not what I mean and you know it.” 

“Then what _do_ you mean?” 

Colin sighed once more, glancing around as Dragon gave him time to think. She was good at that Colin reflected, _understanding_ , even to someone like himself. 

“… Being Armsmaster,” began Colin. “Fighting the war against crime and villains… it’s what I’m good at. Colin Wallis doesn’t even _exist_ beyond a PO Box, a plot of land up north, and within vital government documents.” 

“And yet I’ve realized that, while my _actions_ are good, that doesn’t mean my _intent_ behind them are. I’ve tossed aside many things in pursuit of my career, stepped atop backs and toes, to say nothing of the pinpoint focus I’ve given to my job, and yet… I never felt like it was enough, that I wasn’t getting what I _should be_ for everything I had done, that I needed to push further and harder to reach that point where it would be _enough,_ where I would get the recognition I _deserved._ ”

“And the way that that _sounds_ when I say it out loud…”

“It’s normal for people to want recognition for their achievements Colin,” said Dragon softly. “That isn’t a bad thing, you’re just… a bit more focused on it than other people.”

“In other words, a glory hound. I do check up upon PHO from time to time Dragon, I _know_ what some people say about me.”

“And you also know not to listen to everything that gets posted on the internet,” chastises Dragon, abandoning her soft tones. “You’re smarter than that, and trust me, no one is perfect, and no one can be, I know better than most about that.”

The room was silent for a time, both Tinkers lost int their thoughts. Then Dragon sighed, a drawn-out sound.

“Colin, you can’t beat yourself up over _mistakes,_ they happen and you _learn from them._ Are you the same person from your teenage years? From childhood? Didn’t they make mistakes and you learned and grew from?”

Colin leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, lost in thoughts of years long past. Of working from a garage, to alongside other Tinkers, to his own workroom, traveling the breadth of the United States, to earning the position of team leader.

There had been bumps, some worse than others, but each time he had worked around them, worked _through_ them, becoming better along the way.

Why should now be any different?

“… You’re right, in the beginning of my career I made mistakes, and I learned from them. I pushed myself to be better from them, checked over what happened to stop it from happening again.”

Colin straightened his back and took in a breath as he continued. “It was that very reason that I excelled, getting promoted so rapidly, earning a place on one of Alexandria’s strike teams, and later, this position.”

Then Colin became silence, lost in thought. Dragon waited for him to gather his thoughts, she had the time for a friend.

“…You make mistakes, mistakes don't make you.”

“Maxwell Maltz.”

Colin smiled at Dragon's words. “Correct.”

Then the man sighed, glancing around his lab.

“I’m sorry… I don’t know what came over me, this was… unlike me.”

“No, it’s understandable given everything that’s happened,” Dragon said in a comforting tone. “Winslow, Taylor, and now this whole mess with Alexandria. Add this to your… recent introspection from those events, and anyone would be taken off-balance. If fact if you weren’t, I would have been ever _more_ concerned,”

”Thank you all the same Dragon, I… I think I needed this, to be _reminded_ that I am human, that the world doesn’t go according to my plans… To be told that, despite my, problems and drive _,_ I am really no different than anyone else… good or bad.”

“I’m pretty sure you’re more on the good end of the scale,” Dragon teases. “Just a thought”

“Weren’t you the one that just talked about that kind of thing being relative?”

“Honesty Colin,” Dragon sighs. ”You _know_ **_me_**. If I didn’t think you were a good person, would I still be here talking to you?” 

Colin took a moment to process that, before smiling softly and huffing. 

“… well, part of me hoped that it also because you are attracted to me.” 

Dragon was many things, and Colin had seen several sides of her that he doubted many in the world had. 

This was the first time he’d seen her be flabbergasted and blush, however. 

It was enough to make him crack a _real_ smile. 

Some things were always better in hindsight, and he had Ethan to thank for point this one out to him. 

“How did you- I mean, _Colin_ , I can- no, what I mean to say is…” 

“You are one of, if not the best, Tinkers in the world,” Colin explained calmly. “You also check up on me at _least_ once a week, and have pried me away from more than one project to watch movies or the newest shows, and it was recently pointed out to me that I am a man, and you… well, are a woman, one that spends a large amount of time and effort to keep in touch with _me,_ someone that has been noted to be… difficult to work with, at times.” 

“Though I will say that your reaction is something of a relief as this was largely conjecture until now.” 

“As… as much as I want to talk about this, and I _really do_ , this isn’t really the best time for it Colin.” Dragons voice was pained, as if she hated to be saying those words, but still wasn’t taking them back.

“No, I don’t suppose it is,” said Colin softly.

“Yes, I _mean_ , no, it’s…” Dragon took a breath. 

“There will a better time to talk about this, when we both can sit down and… discuss, some things, things you need to know… things I _need_ to tell you. But not now, later, maybe after this investigation has gotten traction?” 

“Yes,” Colin takes a deep breath and sits up straighter, looking around at his lab. “Let’s do that. What's your thoughts on my report?”

Dragon easily accepted the change of subject, pulling up the relevant file on the Colins screen.

“Well, for one, you handled it nicely, and you _are_ in the right. Alexandria was out of line, no matter what her reasons.”

Colin hummed as he moved about his lab, picking things up to check them for damage. “While I’m not particularly close to her, I have worked alongside Alexandria before, served under her, and was on several short-lived teams with her, her actions today do not fit my memories of her…”

Pausing, lost in thought for a moment, Colin thinks back through both years and the events of the day.

“… What do you have on the Clans Dragon?”

After several seconds of silence, Colin glances over at the Tinker's image.

“Dragon?”

“Sorry! Just…” Dragon hesitated, visibly torn about something.

“… A few years back, I was tasked with finding out more about the Clans, to see if they could be tracked down or countered, and while I was told to keep it all a secret to maintain InfoSec… I was also told to use whatever assets I had at my disposal.”

“And a fellow Tinker who can be vouched for, understands the necessity of keeping secrets, and works well with you?” Colin asks.

“ _Would_ be a powerful asset, someone I trust could offer a different perspective on things.”

Colin smiled. Dragon had a bit of a _compulsion_ regarding rules and regulations, so seeing her rebel against them like this was refreshing.

Colin set aside some of his equipment and headed back to his workbench.

“Very well then, care to bring me up to speed?”

“… I’m afraid it’s not quite that simple. What I’ve found about the Clans… Alexandria has more than enough right to be afraid of them.”

“You know why Alexandria acted the way she did then?” asks Colin.

In response, the screen flickers as Dragon overlaid her image with a video screen.

“New Mexico, 2007. A group of runners for the Cartels crossing the border was intercepted by Spector after they were engaged by border patrol, they had a set of low-level capes and used fully automatic weapons. They were identified as Los Gamas, roughly translated into The Ranges, largely named for their work in crossing the border over the mountains, despite that they operated more like mercenaries than anything, taking a number of jobs in the US/Mexico area.”

“Made of a mix of both Mexicans and Americans, they fearlessly would engage in gunfights on both sides of the border, only this time they ran afoul of something a bit stronger than the border patrol and their capes.”

The video was spotty at best, a bad matchup of bodycam footage and cheap cameras, even with Dragon no doubt improving it as best as she could. But it showed him what he needed to see.

“No sound?”

“What there is, is useless, I’ve tried.”

Colin hummed as he forced, eyeing the events as they played out.

Several border patrol agents hunkered down in the dying light of the day, firing into the nearby hills at unknowns, who were firing back with aplomb.

“This seems somewhat excessive for a drug run,” remarked Colin. “I see at least thirty or so muzzle flashes.”

“They were moving nearly _three million_ US dollars in drugs, using mules and coyotes to move them in a large group via a level four Shaker/Stranger to mask their presence, a standard tactic for them, and why they were so good at it.”

“Ah.”

Colin settled down to watch the video, noting the few powers that were being flung around (at least three Blasters, maybe six if they weren’t ranged Shaker powers), the rushed and desperate calls for backup from the agents, the way the Los Gamas controlled their fire to keep the agents at a distance while trying to disengage over the hi-

The whole battlefield shifted when Spector literally dropped out of the sky, landing in the mess of the Mexican runners. Nearly a dozen of them died by precise gunfire before they shifted their fire upon the cape.

Their rounds however failed to do any meaningful damage, as Spector just mowed through them, blade flashing in the dying light as she danced through the shrubs and hills, laying waste to everything that stood in front of her with either blade or gun.

“Alexandria was in White Sands when this was happening,” explained Dragon. “I don’t know _how_ she learned of this, but her reaction time…”

Spector was wrapping up the last of the runners when it happened. A blur, a shockwave, and then Alexandria was _plowing_ Spector into the dirt, kicking up a trailing dust cloud as she went.

Colin winced. “Even for Brute rated capes, this seems… _excessive.”_

“Wait for it…”

Even with the back footage, Colin could still clearly see Alexandria pinning Spector tom the ground, the other cape point-blank shooting her in the face with a sidearm.

Naturally, Alexandria was unphased, calmly breaking Spector’s wrist.

The cape struggled for a moment, body flaring for a moment, a second Spector erupting from her body to fly through Alexandria.

And when the Spector Alexandria was holding vanished, she turned around and once more plowed Spector behind her out of the air and into the ground.

“Pay attention now.”

Colin focused, watching as Alexandria lifted the struggling Spector up, her grip causing some sort of shield to flare on the cap-

Colin blinked.

“… can you pay that back for me?”

The video stuttered, shifting back to the moment that Spector stiffened-

And the moment a flare of swirling blue-white light flashed into existence _behind_ Alexandria, who _jerked_ and _staggered_.

Then a ripple of light, one that the camera barely caught, as Spector suddenly shifted positions to standing dozens of feet behind Alexandria.

A still image of when the hero staggered popped up, as well as one in the moments before Spector shifted.

“You see it too, right?”

Colin did. There was a _figure_ , half there in the swirling light, holding Spectors sword that had been jabbed backwards _into_ Alexandria. One arm was covered in blue armor, which trailed into a vanished chest, their head covered by a triangle-shaped sand-colored helm.

“How bad was she hurt? And why wasn’t anyone notified?” Colin demanded.

“Alexandria bolted after this, her lung had been pierced and was filling with blood, and she didn’t want to get hit by _this_.”

Another image popped up, this time of the mysterious figure running across the dirt, sword in hand-

And a familiar beam of light blasting out the other, a beam that Alexandria avoided before abruptly vanishing from the fight. The video ended after that.

“The PRT kept everything quiet to avoid another Case One.”

_The Siberian,_ the first time that Alexandria was hurt, one of two that he knew about; three now.

“Based upon the footage,” Dragon continued, bring up several images, both of the fight Colin had just seen, as of the events back at Taylors testing. “Then by all limited accounts, at least without a more detailed examination of both parties, Taylor has the same power as the members of the Clan.”

“How do they _all_ have the same powers?” Colin asked. “I’ve never heard of any capes sharing the _same_ powers, similar powers yes, but not the same. Unless this team has someone that gives them powers. And what of the suit? I see that it freezes up when cape leaves it, but it teleports back on top of them in a moment’s notice, is it Tinker-Tech or part of their powers?”

“… What _do_ you know of the Clans?” Dragon asks.

“Not much,” admitted Colin. “I know they have astounding Tinker-Tech, have no problems killing, and seemingly have their own agenda given what I’ve heard, why?”

“Are you familiar with any of their members?”

“One or two, if only because of what they’ve done.”

“Like Paladin?”

An image of the cape in question popped up, showing them standing atop a Russian fire truck, their horned helm resembling an antelope, while the sash on their hip fluttered in the wind.

“Chernobyl, 1986,” Colin recited. “Paladin used their powers to render local radiation a non-factor, even going as far as to put out the reactor fire themselves. The predicted number of deaths from the explosion and clean up was astoundingly low due to their assistance, though it wasn’t until Tāwhirimātea passed over that the whole area was no longer considered an exclusion zone.”

“One of the more iconic appearances of the Clans,” Dragon confirms. “Another was during the Siege of San Diego in ‘01, where they showed up and held the line at the PRT HQ and at nearby hospitals against the Mexican Cartels that were laying waste to the city.”

“The ice forming cape, with his glowing helm,” Colin recalls. “He froze sections of road leading around the city with large ice bubbles, limiting movement and controlling the flow of the battle for a time, until Conscript started putting holes into people.”

“… You know, I don’t think I ever asked you about Conscript, now that you work with them that is.”

Colin grunted, casing his mind back onto the soldier-themed cape.

“I get along largely fine with them, there had been a few issues, but far less than what I have dealt with _other_ members of my own team… though I do realize now that I might need run some things past you about them,” Colin admitted slowly. “Looking back, I realize that I might have not been fair to them given their understandable actions in San Diego, and may have not treated them as best as I could have because of it.”

“You are at least _civil,_ right?”

“Oh of course,” Colin confirmed. “I just may have not been the most… welcoming, to them. They are an excellent subordinate, but I might not have let them know that as I should have.”

Not to mention that he rarely gave them any slack, but that was mostly because Conscript rarely screwed up and was always willing to take on whatever task he gave them.

“Something for another day Colin, but I will sit and help you out with whatever you need, for now, however… take a look at this.”

Another image popped up, of a figure standing in a snow-covered forest, weapons in hand, a faint glow atop their head.

“Look familiar?” Dragon asks. 

“Yes,” Colin replies. “It’s the same San Diego Clan cape, even if the outer armor is different, the symbol is even the same on its chest. But why is the picture in black and white?” 

“Because this photo was taken somewhere in the forest of Warsaw, circa _1939._ ” 

_“… What!?”_

Another image popped up, of a man wearing a helmet resembling a jackal head, next to a German tank that had been somehow buried in the sand.

“This one, taken during the Siege of Tobruk in 1941. This single man broke the weeklong siege after they somehow brought a sandstorm down atop German troops, burying most of their vehicles, and disabling most of their weapons with sand.”

Another one, this time of a thin woman with a finned helm, and giant blades angling backwards on her arms. A comparison image, of her standing in an unknown city skyline popped up alongside the image.

“1863, the battle of Gettysburg, where the better equipped Confederate forces were decimated by the Union army, backed by this figure here, who, by all accounts, wielded a rifle capable of killing several men a second, while being a mile away.”

“Dragon, thi-“

Another image popped up, a painting this time, of a man in plate armor, standing next to what Colin would peg as a monk, given the sash and way he was standing, hands interlocked in front of his chest. And another comparison image, this time in what looked to be Sydney harbor.

“1761, The Siege of Cassel; French forces pushed back against Prussia forces, backed by this figure, depicted standing beside one of the captains he’d fought beside, sans the weapon that, according to a letter sent by the captain, boomed like thunder and punched dozens of holes in plate and men wherever it aimed.”

Then another image popped up on Colins monitor, of a figure fighting in the 1413 Ottoman Civil War, recorded only by a tapestry found hidden away in a secret passage.

And then another.

And _another._

Dozens of images flashed by, of figures bearing imposable resemblances to Clan member capes spotted in the last three decades, all armed with abilities that wouldn’t be out of place in the world of capes, and wielding weapons that only could belong in a modern setting.

“This isn’t possible,” Colin declared, his eyes locked onto a dragon-themed warrior, complete with fire breath, that had been fighting against invading Vikings in Scandinavian, remembered only by an etching on the side of a stone castle.

“Capes and powers have only been around since the 80’s, and while there were scattered reports of people with powers beforehand, none of those ever panned out. This… how long have you been working on this?”

“Several years, most of it I compiled from scraps, hearsay, and old legends that were only uncovered by those _truly_ dedicated to uncovering them. Or protecting them.”

Another image, this one of a man wearing large chest armor, with a wide metal-brimmed hat, standing next to-

“Is that _Abraham Lincoln?_ ”

“Next to a caretaker of the temples that the PRT wants to know so much about? Yes, it is.”

“How is this possible?” Colin demanded, clicking his way through dozens of images. “How could the PRT miss this? How could _anyone_ miss this!?”

“How many Grey Boy bubbles are there?” Dragon asked suddenly and Colin blinks at the question. He took a moment to think, recalling what he knew about one of the Slaughterhouse Nines most famous members.

“None; depending on unknown factors, they last anywhere from a day for the smaller ones, to a year for the largest, before degrading apart and releasing those trapped within, though sometimes to their deaths.”

“Then why do I have reports and footage of the bubbles and those trapped inside them _, dating over the course of two decades?_ While the people inside claim they’ve been _trapped there for years?”_

Colin was taken back. “You shouldn’t, I mean…”

The man paused as he realized something.

“Dragon… where were the Grey Boy bubble sites?”

“Because you don’t remember any?”

“No, _I don’t.”_

Colin rose from his seat and began pacing the room, thinking hard over all the new data he had been given.

“Is this a Stanger effect? Some kind of power that reaches over the world.” A pause, with Colin's gaze extending out past the walls, unseeing for a moment.

“… no, if that was the case then… wait, _maybe?_ ”

“It’s not a Stanger effect,” said Dragon. “It's one of the Clans members. I _think_ I know which one as well, mostly became people talk about her, but there is never any _actual_ records of her. She messed with the bubbles and somehow destroyed them, saving most of the people within them. One of her powers seems to be like Alabasters; she can rewind herself in combat, only it seems to be quite literally from verbal and written reports. A time power messing with another time power, only hers is _stronger_.”

“… is it possible that this cape can _actually_ travel through time?” Colin asks. “As much as the thought makes me shudder, it would explain all this information you’ve collected.”

“I doubt it.”

“But you don’t know _for sure,”_ pressed Colin.

“Colin, if they _could_ time travel, we would not be having this conversation. I think this is something else, something _bigger_ than what we’re seeing.”

“In several of these records, there are talk of them fighting others that match them in power and strength, of demons that met them on even ground. The Civil War record even talks of the Confederates wearing armor that protected them from musket rounds, and that it was grown and _molded_ from dirt, metal, and flesh from those same people. And in each case the Clan was there, fighting on the opposite side.”

“They were the ones that pushed the Germans back from Penzance in Britain in WWII, sinking ships and crippling the nearby German navy enough that they were forced to retreat. Yet while this was covered up at the time to avoid panic on Britain soil, the only record for this attack is in sunken ships off the coast with German tanks inside them. No other record _exists,_ despite the fact there are reports and letters suggesting that ships and troops were sent to the area suddenly.”

“Even with a cover-up, there is no way that _all_ the records vanished. Not unless…”

“Someone removed them,” Colin finished. “… is this the same for the other events?”

“More or less,” confirmed Dragon. “There are scattered records of their opponents, mostly about them attacking and laying waste to all that stand before them, or taking over wherever they go, at least until the Clans show up to root them out. Which brings me to something I _really_ need to show you.”

Colin's screen flickered as the images changed, the old ones vanishing and being replaced by images of faded scrolls and paintings.

But it was one image that sent a _jolt_ down his spine.

“Dragon-“

“One sec, I need to get the whole thing up and arranged just right for the best impact.”

Colin glanced at his screen, watching as more paintings and scrolls popped up, overlapping each other as they did so.

But never blocking the one that chilled him to his bones.

It was a red feather, a quill, covering up a portion of his screen, just set off to the side. It had words under the images, words _addressed to **him**_ **.**

_‘Distrust not **her** , but those that pull the strings **behind** her Colin Wallis. Soon it will be time to pick a side, but now is the time for **silence**. Know that you have stepped into the shadows unknowingly, but that **you are not alone** in them. When the time comes for the answer to the question you seek, I will be waiting with it.’_

Underneath that was a string of numbers, GPS coordinates, to someplace in the mid-north section of the US if Colin wasn’t mistaken.

“Right, ready?”

At Dragon's words, the unknown image vanished without a trace. Colin felt something heavy settle into his gut; if the message was actually from Dragon, then she wouldn’t have been so mysterious about it, nor would she had bothered to fake it like she did. But if it came from an outside source…

“Who did you say tasked you with this project?” asked Colin, taking a gamble.

“The Chief Director and Alexandria did,” was the answer, which did _nothing_ to ease Colin's worries.

“It was noted that I was good with people and managing systems early on, so they asked me to consolidate everything from dozens and hundreds of sources worldwide. Right, now, storytime. These scrolls, wooden and stone tablets were excavated in Japan, back before Kyushu sank. They were largely viewed as an old mythological story, no different than the old stories of spirits and gods.”

Colin's screen shifted to show a simple drawing of a man alongside Japanese Kanji.

“This is Emperor Tenmu, he ruled over Japan back in the late six-hundreds, and _this_ is a drawing of an attacking force that apparently carved a path of destruction from the coast, using fire and lightning both from the air and ground, all the way to the area outside the palace during his reign.”

Another image popped up, of demonic creatures, some wearing masks while others being little more than a rolling black cloud of limbs and faces, each one showing what could only be described as evil glee or being expressionless. The force was shown bearing down upon a town with other figures fleeing and being killed from beams of what looked to be light.

“It is said that no arrow could pierce their armor or skin, that all who knelt before them were spared, but that they killed any that resisted.”

Another image, of people in a line, kneeling down, and one that carried a sword, being shot in the chest from a mass of dark clouds.

“They claimed to be arrivals from faraway lands, come to rule over all people, in all of the lands. Tenmu rallied his forces against this invader, and those of those serving under him, but they were hopelessly outmatched.”

A painting, of men marching to their deaths, never getting close to the mass of limbs and cloud.

“… until a single warrior descend from the heavens to fight back against the unstoppable foe. Armed with nothing but blade and bow, filled with rage and the power of the heavens, he pushed the unstoppable foe _back_ to the sea, and cast them out of Japan.”

Colin blinked at the new image, one of a man with a bow on his back, a sash covering his front and neck, and a single horn coming out from the middle of his forehead, cutting through the cloud, the faces within having changed to ones of terror.

He also had no eyes.

Colin _knew_ that figure, and Dragon popped up a comparison image, it having the same figure standing atop a brunt out cop car, several capes that had ‘claimed’ that portion of the city for themselves further down the street.

It was something of a cult image because standing between the two groups, stopping them from fighting, was _Vikare._ It was one of the few images the world had of the hero before his death.

“Tenmu tried to bask the warrior in gifts and lands, to get him to stay within Japan, but he refused, stating that it was not his place. And it was from the name of the warrior that a new title for the Emperor of Japan was born.”

Some of the images from before flashed across Colin's screen, a part in each one being highlighted. They were all in different languages, but when Dragon enough them all next to each other and translated them…

“It’s a name I’ve seen several times, all over the world. It is one of the few things that link all of these different events together, a name that helped guild me to many of them, because it was often one of the few things that _survived_ the passing of them, probably because it was protected, because it’s _important_.”

The final translation happened, being pulled from the image of that great warrior, cutting through the dark sky, and vanquishing the evil that threatened the land.

**“Tenno.”**


	31. 3.10 Firewalker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Heads up long chapter ahead, but this one has some meat on its Bones.

_“Dragon, what was it that promoted this investigation? Why were you ordered to find everything you could that involved the Clans?”_

_“… It was Alexandria, she asked me to, after the Scouring.”_

_“The Scouring? You were there for that, weren’t you? What happened there? How does that connect to the Clans?_

_“To tell the truth, I don’t really know…”_

_“All I know is after that, Alexandria was… different.”_

* * *

_June 7th 2006_

“Are you on schedule?”

“More or less. Icarus is checking the engines of ACS seven and eight, some of the Tinker-Tech onboard is tripping breakers, she needed to set a few more conduits to take the load.”

“Will it be a problem?”

“Shouldn’t be, seven and eight were the last to do their prechecks, all that’s left is-“

As if summoned, the voice of Legend echoed in the room and over the earpieces that the hero wore.

“… never mind,” said Argonaut, a smile in his voice, hidden behind his helmet. “Right on time, no less.”

“Well he’s nothing if not punctual,” stated Gramme from the monitor in front of Argonaut.

The pair were getting in a bit of talk in before Argonaut finished putting on his armor and headed out.

Aside from the single computer, the room was bare, if strange; a set of cabinets were next to the desk where Argonaut sat talking to Alan, a literal string of lights hanging over the bed/locker beating back the glow of the smooth green-tinted walls, and a single metal door which lead to a hallway outside.

Argonaut and Alan Gramme, aka Sphere, were old friends, with Argonaut’s power catching the attention of Sphere early on. Over the years they had developed a rapport and a strong friendship, though the two couldn’t be more different.

Sphere was an engineer, a man that planned things out and worked long and hard to see his tasks succeed. Argonaut was far more laid back, almost known for being lazy in his actions. Despite this, Argonaut had a strong sense of values and ideals which showed in his work.

Even if threat of force was required to make him clean up after himself.

Wearing his only helmet and bits of his armor, Argonaut laughed and said, “Yep, can be a bag of hot air though.”

Alan joined his friend in laughing. “He means well, and it isn’t like you all need the morale boost.”

“Given that everyone here knows what we’re doing,” came a new voice, walking into the room. “It does seem unnecessary at this point. Though we should let him speak for that same reason.”

Walking over with her helmet held under her arm, Alexandria was quick to stand beside Argonaut. She smiled at Alan, nodding once at the Tinker.

It was the sound of the door opening which heralded the arrival of someone else, who took note of who Argonaut was speaking to.

“Gramme, I’ve read the reports on the base’s construction, you should be in bed by now.”

Alan huffed. “As if I could sleep tonight, Alexandria. I may not be able to help out, but that doesn’t mean I can’t offer advice.”

Argonaut nudged Alexandria. “Come on Becky, let the man worry, I know I am.”

“I hope that you’re keeping that to yourself.”

“Meh,” Argonaut shrugged. “It’s not like everyone else is worrying as well.”

“Even we up here are worried,” Alan stated. “If this plan of yours works Rebecca… everything will change.”

“As such,” Alexandria turned to Argonaut. “We should end this here and get ready, prep-work getting finalized.”

“Right then,” Argonaut nodded at the monitor. “Alan, good talking to you, I’ll make sure to keep an uplink open for you guys up there.”

Alan smiled. “Thanks, I’ll make sure to get a few people on it, good luck out there!”

The screen flickered, shifting to nothing more than a command prompt. Argonaut leaned back in his chair and sighed, before looking up at Alexandria.

“You know, I’ll be the one to say it: we don’t have to do this.”

Alexandria frowned. “You assisted with the construction, planning, and organization… how could yo-“

“I’m did all of that because you _asked_ me to do it,” said Argonaut. “Because I understand _why_ this is important, but I’m just pointing out that what we are doing is crazy, and, _somehow,_ no one has pointed this out yet.”

“This has been nearly three years in the making, to back out now would be _unthinkable_.”

Argonaut sighed. “We both know that this whole plan was in response to Leviathan sinking Newfoundland, but this was something that we planned to do _years_ down the line, after we’ve gotten Icarus’s Sentinel up and running to proper fighting form, and doing more than serving as a reaction force. This feels rushed…”

“This is something we _need,_ ” Alexandria said sternly. “The world has seen too much death and destruction, too much has been lost for them to continue looking forward to the future. _This_ will give them that hope, make them believe that we _can_ win the fights that are to come.”

“Doesn’t mean that _this_ is something we can _do_ ,” Argonaut countered. “ _This_ isn’t another raid on a villain’s hideout, an attack on some cape groups base, or even a PR stunt. This is _big,_ like, the biggest thing we’ve ever _done._ Have we _really_ planned enough for this?’

“Contessa said tha-“

“ _Ugh,_ enough about Contessa already!” Argonaut interrupted. “We _know_ that her power has issues with things like this, and even if she has a partial Path laid out for this, _she could be wrong!_ Did you even think that?!”

Alexandra stared sternly at the other hero, her eyes boring holes into him.

After a moment, Argonaut slumped and sighed.

“I’m sorry, its just that…”

Stepping closer, Argonaut took Alexandra’s hand, his fingers intertwining into hers. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this Becky. I don’t _like_ what we’re doing and think it’s foolish, but I _will_ stand beside you, I’ve already promised that. And you know what they say, don’t make a girl a promise…”

Rebecca let her head fall against Argonaut helmet, closing her eyes to whisper, “If you know you can’t keep it.”

Argonaut chuckled softly, leaning into Rebecca, his other arm reaching out to tug at Rebecca’s hip to bring her closer to him…

Rebecca pulled away (despite the ache in her heart). “Not now Johnny, _you_ need to suit up.”

“ _Oh_ come on,” Johnny protested. “We have a _few_ minutes, and there’s a bed right here!”

Rebecca huffed and turned to walk away. “It’s bad form to wear a helmet when you woo a lady, removes the intimacy.”

“I can take it off!” a desperate Johnny called out.

“Too _late~!”_ sing-sung Rebecca with a smile as she went to leave the room.

“Hey.”

Rebecca turned to see Johnny reaching out to her, his body language unusually serious.

“… Promise me you’ll be safe?” he asks.

Rebecca smiled, before sliding on her helmet. “I’m _Alexandra_ , I’m _always_ safe.”

* * *

There was an eeriness to the green halls, something that tickled at the mind, speaking of _wrongness._

This caused most of them to be empty, devoid of life, further enhancing the effect.

However, Alexandria knew what it was, the smoothness and uniformity of them.

Humans might wish and reach for perfection, but only to a point. When faced with Argonaut’s power however, their minds noted things. The lack of imperfections triggering the primal parts of the brain to recoil in confusion and fear, a classic case of the Uncanny Valley. Even Alexandria felt it to some degree, though she was easily able to push it away.

All the purpose-made signs, lights and other assorted things place to break up the uniformity of the hall that she passed on her journey helped as well.

Argonaut was a Projection cape, one of the most powerful in the world. He could create walls and shapes capable of holding up several hundred tons before breaking, twist them into reinforcing gaps and holes in buildings and structures. They were even capable of withstanding a hit from Behemoth before breaking down.

However, he only could do _solid_ constructions; everything had to either be in one piece or worked into something else, as well as clear of anything moving or alive. With the lights and doors, he had to leave spaces for them to be attached and wired. Fixing up buildings meant anchoring it with spikes of his power, as no glue or adhesive could hold onto his projections. If someone tried drilling or making a hole in to his projection, the whole thing would fall apart.

Furthermore, once something was set, Argonaut was unable to change it without destroying it, which was compounded by the fact that his power was not only touch-based but was effectively permanent when placed (provided that it was either build correctly or anchored to something: the constructs were light enough to fall over in a _breeze_ ). Despite this, Argonaut had a creation range of nearly a mile if given enough time for his power to work, was capable of making any shape, and knowing where it was via his ‘mind’s eye.’

But it wasn’t until Contessa stepped in that the hidden use of Argonaut’s power was revealed. Before then, he was known as Daedalus, a rapidly rising hero in the world of capes: one that had quickly earned a place in the same category as Alexandria, Legend, and Eidolon with his powerset and skill in using it.

However, after Contessa stepped in, the fifth member of what would be later known as the Silver Seven became Argonaut, in charge of the Protectorate team of Seattle, Washington.

Alexandria stepped up a set of stairs and ducked though a metal hatch, turning to head towards a door leading outside.

The reason for the sudden spike was simple and the sole reason that Argonaut was effectively single-handedly making this plan happen.

Stepping outside, Alexandria felt the steady _drip-drop_ of rain trickle against her body, something that would’ve surprised people when they looked up and off the deck to see where they were.

Because at twelve thousand feet above Hastings, Nebraska, nearly smack-dab in the heart of a superstorm, with nothing but dark, roiling clouds as far as the eye could see in any and every direction, it was unexpected to be experiencing _just_ a bit of a breeze and a trickle of rain.

When Argonaut used his power to create something _more_ than walls, pillars, traps and barriers, they would be imbued with a damping effect in relation to the _idea_ of what his power was shaped into.

Which was why when Alexandria looked out over the railing, she saw several faintly green-glowing schooners, cutters, a number of brigs, some barquentines, a few junks, and several other class of sailing ships, all held aloft by engines mounted in the underside of their hulls, designed and powered in part by Icaruss’ reactors.

Not a single one of the ships’ masts or rigging worked, they were just as rigid as the ships hulls, but it was the _idea_ of the ship, the _concept,_ that allowed them to create fields that allowed people to walk across their desks, not feeling the bite of the cold, the harsh tug of the winds, or the pounding of the rain.

Argonaut could make buildings and shelters that withstood Endbringers, encouraged wounds to heal faster, to calm and restore hope with but a roof over people’s heads.

Sailing ships of an era long past stood strong as they traveled unknown seas, weathered storms and rough water, to endure the journey of _thousands_ of miles.

_This_ was what carried the Assault Teams forth, a mix of Tinker-Tech and Shaker effect, protecting them from the storm as they traveled through it.

The roar of four turboprops rattled by as a Lockheed C-130E flew past, flying parallel to the ‘fleet.’ Close enough that even with the speed and distance, Alexandria could read the name on the side of the craft as it flew on: _Skyforge._

As part of the 53rd Weather Reconnaissance Squadron, this C-130, its crew, and several others of the 53rd had been pressed into assistance; the largely-unmodified aircraft were some of the few standard aircraft that could weather these types of storms with ease. Several of them flew in the storm, dropping sensors and taking readings, gathering intel for the upcoming fight.

As the large cargo plane turned storm tracker banked away, water slicking off of it as it powered through the storm, something was dropped from the back of the craft; a dropsonde, a weather reconnaissance device which was used to gather information inside storms.

Alexandria watched as the C-130 turned away from its parallel path of the ‘fleet,’ and straight into the grey, swirling mass of the Eyewall, the same place that the fleet was soon heading, vanishing with the dark mists.

Stepping back from the railing, Alexandria watched as the many passengers made their way up, most wearing packs of Tinker-Tech, manufactured by Icarus, mindful of the countdown happening in her helmet.

Considering the heights that this assault was taking place at, measures had to be taken to protect the capes that lacked the durability of someone like Alexandria. So in addition to the flight systems on the ships Icarus had teamed up with a number of other Tinkers (including one who was starting to make waves for her programing and robotic work work up in Canada) to make the necessary gear to ensure the survival of the volunteered capes.

From simple jetpacks and tethers to help keep people on the ships, to shields for flyers capable of flying in the storm and for the various ships in the fleet, all the way to the guns mounted within the hulls and on the decks.

It was all the work of nearly three years of planning, three years of tracking, and negotiating with, capes of all sorts, all leading up to this moment.

Alexandria watched over it for a few moments, taking in the controlled chaos that the deck quickly became as more and more capes showed up and the clock in her limited HUD slowly clicked down. Even with the gear that many of them sported to help keep them safe, the sheer amount of different costumes made the deck seem like a gathering of a circus rather than an group of highly capable people about to undertake the hardest mission of their lives.

The female hero watched them prepare for a moment longer; she didn’t need to step in, everyone had already been briefed before they had gotten abroad, and there were people in place to handle that sort of thing.

Turning back to watching the storm, Alexandria noted that there were already teams flying around the fleet, likely testing equipment one final time and getting the hang of it before the big moment.

One figure shot away from the others, rapidly gaining height with their pack. Alexandria watched them, taking in the details as they climbed; no one was panicking, and they seemed under control…

_“Alexandria,”_ came a call over her helmet radio. _“We need to talk.”_

The hero followed the flying figure with her eyes, watching as it flew towards a shield that suddenly appeared in the storm, as well as the flash of light that heralded Legend coming out of his Breaker state nearby.

Alexandria sighed, and launched her way up, shooting into the sky in a blur.

They didn’t have time for this, but there were few reasons that Legend would call for her at this point.

The damping field only extended a dozen feet above the ship, not even going halfway up the mast, so the transition from, ‘raining-but-sunny-out,’ to, ‘in-the-middle-of-a-tropical-storm-of-coconuts-being-launched-from-a-cannon,’ was jarring, even for someone like Alexandria.

Still, she powered through, not really _feeling_ it as much as it was _acknowledged_ , quickly gaining height before bolting towards the shield.

She slowed to a near stop as she approached, seeing the other still active members of the Silver Seven within it.

Eidolon seemed to be in the middle of arguing with Icarus as she moved into the shield, the water on her body slicking away as she passed through it. Legend gave her a nod, but remained unmoved from his floating position, arms crossed and face set in a scowl.

“-et it!” Icarus shouted, her voice easily overtaking the pounding of the rain. “This isn’t just linking up wires, this is interfacing dozens of different design strategies! We can’t rush this kind of thing! We’re going to have to delay the attack.”

Icarus wasn’t wearing her usual gear, instead she was wearing one of the protypes for her and Argonaut’s Sentinel project. Currently it wasn’t more than an exo-frame with a reactor strapped to the front of it, alongside a back-mounted engine to get the user flying (she was standing on a platform Eidolon had made for her to avoid using the thrusters), all metal and exposed bits, the bare minimum to get it working.

Still, it fit her usual flight-suit based aesthetic, if more… military-themed, given the lines and limited placement of armor.

Icarus was more of those rare Tinkers that was _over_ specialized. Where some amount of overlap would exist for Tinkers (such as power sources, computers, armor), Icarus was a Tinker of power sources and engines, near exclusively so, to the point that aside from systems _within_ or built to _support_ her tech, Icarus couldn’t make any better of: metals, computers, gears, scanners, guns, etc., like any ‘normal’ Tinker.

It _did_ however allow her to make thrusters strong enough to get Sphere’s heavy lifter into orbit, as well as get a reactor that didn’t (in her words) need anyone to look over it as long as it wasn’t damaged as a replacement for the nuclear plants lost during Behemoth’s attacks at Lyon. It essentially was a black box heat generator, limited only by how many water pipes they could run nearby the reactor to change into stream; it was already outputting more than double of what the old plants had managed and there was still room for expansion.

“We _can’t_ delay, everyone is getting prepped as we speak,” Eidolon stated to Icarus. “Can you work around it or not? Maybe get some replacement from one of the other ships?”

“ _No!_ we don’t have any because _someone_ pushed the agenda up by nearly a _year!_ ”

_‘Well this explains Legend’s mood.’_

Alexandria coughed into her fist, grabbing the attention of Icarus.

It was strange how well a glare translated through a reflective armored helmet, though as one of the two _someones_ that pushed the attack forward, Alexandria understood Icarus’s frustration.

She herself had some with who they picked to round out the teams.

“How bad is it?”

Icarus inhaled, as if to build herself up, before sighing explosively.

“… We’re down three craft, maybe four, depends on what happens with the limited reworks that are being done right now.”

Icarus jabbed a metal finger in Alexandria’s direction. “I told you we needed more time, Tinker-Tech isn’t a plug and play _system!_ I had my hands full just dealing with the different Tinkers stepping on each other’s toes _before_ even accounting for that! No even to mention the _other_ gear _you_ _demanded_ we bring?! Some of which you haven’t even told me about! If I’m to be your head engineer, then why aren’t you letting me see whats within the _Gungnir’s_ hold?”

“Operational security,” Alexandria replied tensely. “As well as a safety one. We were instructed _not_ to interact with the tech until absolutely necessary, in order to ensure the best results. We don’t even know if it will work, but we’re hoping it will be our trump card against the Endbringer.”

“And why haven’t you told me about it? The holds been cut off from the rest of the ship! You’ve even done something to block scans of the room- and _yes!_ I _have_ tried to take a look! Wouldn’t you?!”

“We were told that you would react badly,” stated Eidolon. “As well as would cause issues with the tech.”

“Well if that’s the case we _need_ to call this off then; relying on untested and unknown equipment? On _top_ of rushing everything and making all the deals? At this point you’ve made me more concerned about what happens if we _succeed._ ”

“Even if we wanted to head back, we _can’t._ ” Legend interjected, redirecting the conversation before it got out of hand. “What we’re doing here is far too important… but I agree with you Sam, on several points. If the public found out about what we promised to the capes on these ships and what we’ve done to get them here…”

From both a tactical and strategic point of view, it was easy to understand; if you wanted the best chance at victory, you gathered the best and greatest in what they did.

Trouble was, those people weren’t always the most _upstanding_ individuals.

Oh, they weren’t people like the Nine, but many were either on the ‘Kill List,’ were working their way onto it, or were wanted for a variety of other reasons that would have caused the governments of the world to balk at gathering up into one place and promising them amnesty, but not a clean slate.

There had been even talk of pulling people from the Birdcage, but Contessa had Pathed that out.

It never ended well.

There _were_ heroes present, but given the scope and risks of what was planned, taking only heroes would only end up hurting the PRT/Protectorate in the long run, no matter how this all turned out.

So in the end they took almost anyone who accepted the deal offered; hero ,villain, _and_ civilian alike.

After all, even with Cauldron helping out, there were only so many capes in the world that could participate. To say nothing of the ones what were _willing,_ even with the benefits offered.

“Our odds are good,” Eidolon added. “And we’ve stacked the deck as best as we could, given the situation. This is no different than what we do normally.”

Icarus huffed. “Part of me wants to say I told you so when this all goes to shit, but for that to happen we all need to be _alive.”_

“Then why don’t you leave?” Legend asks. “You don’t have to stay, you were never forced to come along.”

Icarus was silent for a few moments. “... Because it’s where I need to be, and someone else would have gotten it wrong.”

With that said, she fell out of the shield bubble, passing Argonaut as he rose up in his Greek-inspired flight suit.

The Tinker-Tech wings folded into his back as he approached the bubble, and Eidolon used some sort of power to pull the last few feet inside.

“Whats up with Carter?” Argonaut asked, looking backwards at the retreating cape. “She looked upset.”

“No more that you are,” Alexandria filled in. “Are we ready?”

Argonaut nodded. “The last of the crews have reported in and are ready to go, just give the word and we’ll weigh anchor and should be in position on schedule.”

Alexandria nodded, and reflectively checked the timer on her HUD. They had time, enough to get other things done before they were forced into action.

“We’re not sailing, we’re flying,” Eidolon sighed.

Shrugging, Argonaut asked “And? They look like ships, David, we can treat them like ships.”

“Then we move out,” Alexandria stated, interrupting the fight between the two heroes. Eidolon and Argonaut never really had gotten along, their personalities and ideologies grinding against one and other for years.

“To your ships, gentlemen, I’ll scout ahead and tell the planes to exit the area.”

The other heroes nodded at Alexandria, the shield falling away as they all split off.

Alexandria was left hovering for a few moments, watching as her teammates- _friends-_ traveled down to the fleet.

She took the moment to steel herself, to shake the same feeling of _unease_ that had been brought up by many people. Before twisting in place and shooting off into the storm, following the beacons of the C-130s as best as she could.

“Alexandria to _Skyforge **,**_ it’s time, Captain, get out here at best speed.”

_“_ Skyforge _to Alexandria, Captain Shack here. Copy that, I’ll pass the word.”_

From out of the black and dark, the silhouette of a plane emerged, breaking out of the churning clouds and rapidly bypassing her on its trip out of the storm.

_“… Good luck out that Alexandria, I think you’ll need it.”_

The rest of the trip was only accompanied by the sounds of wind and water, her only guide being a beacon dropped form one of the 53rd’s birds.

It happened suddenly, a shift of wind that even had _her_ struggling for a moment. Like hands grabbing at her, tugging her up then down, trying to yank her left and right.

Then, _resistance._ Like the air itself was fighting against her.

Alexandria pushed back, forcing her hands forward as if to shove back at the air…

Then nothing.

No rain, no wind, just flashes of lightning happening in the distance. The eye of the storm, half hidden by clouds overhead, yet containing little in a large area outside wisps of cloud tendrils, twisting like smoke in the air.

And below her, a dark shape moved. Blending into the storm, lit up only by flashes of lightning, the faint hint of light from above, and its own bioluminescence.

Tāwhirimātea.

The _Stormbringer._

There were many things that were either withheld or forgotten by the public about Tāwhirimātea, one of the more obvious ones was the fact it _glowed._

Seeming like bioluminescent stripes of some deep-sea creature, Tāwhirimātea was covered in lights that stretched across its body, hovering just above the surface, ripping and flowing in a mesmerizing pattern for unknown purpose.

Like some sort of faint holographic shell, it extended along the wings and stretched down the tail, with a ring of lights on the top marking out what was best guessed as the ‘head’ of the Endbringer.

It took a moment for the rain to return, as the bubble of Stillness that served as the final marker of approach to the Endbringer was what had caused such resistance in the Eyewall in the first place. Aside from the obvious storm that surrounded Tāwhirimātea, it was these final chaotic winds that stopped most aircraft from getting close to the Endbringer.

Even the C-130s of the 53rd were heavily scrutinized for damage, before and after each mission, and they were the ones tasked with monitoring and researching storms like this.

As Alexandria hovered above Tāwhirimātea, the sounds of its calls echoed in the air, mixing in with the rush of wind and the pattering of a soft new rain, she observed the Endbringer, taking in its form. From the flexing of the wings, to the faint red hue that marked out where the shields protected entrances to its insides.

All of all the Endbringers, Tāwhirimātea was the one that had people the most divided. It would cleanse the land it flew over, restoring it to beyond exceptional condition, yet also caused flooding, destroyed towns, melted snowcaps, and caused many lives to be lost.

Yet it always seemed to pass over places hit by Behemoth after attacks, to avoid and redirect storms away from areas hit by Leviathan.

Some viewed its actions as a kind of indifference, simply being balance to the world.

Alexandria however just viewed it as another steppingstone to the _real_ enemy.

If they could defeat Endbringers, and do so reliability, then the world had a better chance to defeat Scion.

This is why Cauldron had looked into every way possible to fight Tāwhirimātea, as it was the sole Endbringer that could be fought at any time, as the others fled out of reach when beaten or finished with their ‘tasks.’

In the process, they had learned of several new capes that they needed to keep an eye on, as well as uncovered a few that even the Endbringers seemed to shy away from.

Still, Alexandria understood the risks involved, as did every cape in the fleet.

Speaking of…

It was the smaller ships that burst through the Eyewall first, their engines flaring and roaring. Following them were the others, all staggering out of the clouds, their formation lost, as expected.

The same went with the sudden flurry of transmissions over the radio.

_“This is_ In Amber Clad _, we just lost engine two, others are working fine but we’re… tilting.”_

_“_ Ishimura _here, all of our lights just went out, makes it kind hard to see anything.”_

_“_ Alicorn _here_ _, uhh, all the chargers for the Tinker guns just cut out, can someone tell Icarus that?”_

_“_ Woah! _One of our guys just got launched overboard from the bucking! Someone needs to catch him!”_

No matter what the craft, and even some types of Tinker-Tech, they always had electrical problems after passing through the Eyewall. Even the C-130s had issues, though they had the benefit of having more mechanical systems that were short-proof that allowed them to keep flying with those issues, as well as having hardened hardware to protect against that kind of thing.

There was still a risk, but they had learned from their early days and had improved their systems for ease of repair, as well as stripped some parts away to get at the hardware that tended to fail.

The assault team lacked that experience, and as such, didn’t fully know how to deal with those issues, even with the 53rd giving tips.

Add this to the flux of winds battering the ships around, it was expected that they could lose people via falling off the ships, even when limiting how many could be on deck at the time.

Alexandria watched as several flyers moved into the storm, some wearing shields to protect them. A flash of light signaled Legend grabbing someone-

-Several someone’s from the way he flickered around the fleet.

“Icarus, how are we doing?” Alexandria called over the radio, her sharp eyes tracking each ship as it moved back into something resembling a formation. “I’m seeing several of our ships drifting.”

“… Icarus, respond.”

The number of calls slackened as the fleet undertook the hard work of repairing what they could, yet nothing from Icarus.

“…. Icarus, what is your situation? We have multiple ships in duress.”

_“Would you kindly all get off my BACK!?!?”_ Icarus shouted over the radio, much to the shock and shouts of others on the net.

“ _I’m busy! and in case you haven’t noticed, we lost the_ Keyes!”

The _Keyes_ was the fleet’s heavy lifter, the support ship that carried over thirty-five percent of their extra gear, as well as having the sole fully stocked medically facility on board.

Losing it would be a heavy blow, they would no longer be capable of saving as many injured, let alone keeping the fight up for a prolonged period of time.

“Does anyone know what happened to it?”

_“I think I saw an explosion in the hull as we were going through the Eyewall, and no one is responding on the radio.”_

_“I found it,”_ came Eidolon’s voice. _“The engines are gone and there’s fire coming from the hatches. Its falling fast… I don’t think there’s much I can do at this point.”_

“Engine failure?”

_“… looks like it.”_

Neither hero said anything else and Alexandria could only grimace.

Icarus wasn’t so crass as to say ‘I told you so,’ but Alexandria knew that she would find a way to bring the loss of the _Keyes_ up, as well as the fact that it was _her_ plan to push things forward without taking the proper amount of time to get things ready.

Still, more than a fair number of ships were still operational, so the plan would continue after everyone checked in.

* * *

Surprisingly, the _Keyes_ was the only ship lost. The rest still were able to continue onwards to the objective with only a few capes injured and some restrictions on certain craft.

Tāwhirimātea had slowed, forcing the fleet to climb above it to keep the distance, giving anyone that looked over the side of their ships a great view of the Endbringer’s outline as it flew underneath the fleet.

This wasn’t cause for concern, however. Whenever someone breached the Eyewall, the Endbringer would seemingly act…. curious.

The rain would fade from their area, the winds would be gentle and guiding, rather than violent and unpredictable.

It would make more calls, adjusting its course as if moving to investigate the newcomer that had come to see it.

In fact, Tāwhirimātea could be quite calm at times, allowing planes to fly all around it without incident, or reducing its storm as it passed through a flight corridor.

More than one flight crew that experienced trouble would find themselves encountering calmed air until they left the Endbringer’s range.

Lighting would lessen, being more distant and less frequent. The winds would shift, pushing things along and away from Tāwhiri, yet gentle enough that one didn’t have to worry.

Farms would often be untouched by weeds and bugs after the Endbringer passed by, with their crops being ready to harvest then and there, and the ground fertile enough to have another season before the year was up.

Fish would flock to waters, buoyed by an explosion of food; the same for crustaceans and other sea life, with coral reefs even recovering from damage.

It would even dive down towards the ground and perform rolls and flips for cameras, seemly playful as it flew through the clouds over cities, its storm often strong, but never quite as damaging as it was predicted to be.

But those that hung around too long would find themselves about to have a _very_ bad day.

Planes would go down, their craft ripped apart by sudden updrafts, hail, and the occasional burst of lightning.

The sea would rage, snapping ships in half.

Whole mountains would crumble, while rivers swelled far beyond their banks.

Cities would experience _feet_ of rain in _minutes_ , flooding homes up to their windows.

Forests would expand, overgrowing towns and roads within _days._

Yes, some viewed Tāwhirimātea as having ‘her’ own ideas and plans, with the humans just getting in the way at times and the Endbringer not caring if some drowned so that a strip-mine was healed over. But Alexandria saw it differently.

She likened instead it to a killer whale: seeming gentle and majestic at first, but it would still take a bite out of you if you got too close and it wasn’t feeling _‘playful’._

The trouble was that this whale was big enough that even _islands_ would get a bite taken out of them.

Some would call this attack foolhardy, and while Alexandria did see it to a degree, she also saw it as necessary.

Tāwhirimātea was the _only_ Endbringer what was always within reach, the sole one that could even be counterattacked. And while she did have some doubts that they would succeed in killing it, what they would learn from the Endbringer would more than make up for it, as well as the possibility of damaging it to the point that it would flee back to the waters of New Zealand.

She also foresaw much of the attacking force being killed, as they were fighting a being that had been named after a god of storms, in its own territory, n less.

Yet this something that the world _needed._ They needed the hope of being able to kill the Endbringers, the death and destruction they had wrought over the years had weighed on the collective psyche of the world, to the point that it was less about _fighting_ and _defeating_ the Endbringers, and more about throwing enough bodies at them to slow them down and delay them long enough for either Scion to show up, or making them retreat.

This was why Alexandria had been willing and had pressed so hard for this to happen, the world needed to see that heroes would- _could,_ still win this war. That it wasn’t a matter of holding the line, but of tactical and strategic moves.

Her musing was interrupted by Icarus contacting her.

_“Scout teams are ready, Alexandria, and most of the heavy damage has been fixed. Though I’ll need to stay with the fleet to continue making repairs.”_

“Very well, we’ll head out then. Do you believe that you’ll be able to get the fleet moving again soon?”

_“… against my better judgment, yes. We’ll be somewhat slower and should move people around for when we need to bug out, but we’re still able to do this_ stupid _plan of yours.”_

Alexandria sighed, her breath coming out in a puff of mist due to the height and the chill.

A quick adjustment and she switched frequencies on her radio, the clock ticking ever further down.

It wouldn’t be long now.

“Argonaut, do you have someone that can help out Icarus? She’s a little swamped and could use a hand.”

_“… I do, but does she_ really _need it Alex? I mean, she’s got years of tinkering under her belt with the Protectorate.”_

“You never know, and I’d rather have the help and never need it, than her make a mistake and not have anyone there beside her.”

_“… all right, I’ll get someone.”_

Letting her hand fall from her helmet, Alexandria sighed again.

Icarus had been a staple with the Silver Seven since before they the group even _existed,_ with her and Argonaut being the only two that _weren’t_ Cauldon capes.

She was also one of the two that didn’t know about Cauldon; Kuzunoha was never brought in for obvious reasons, and Icarus was never able to be properly vetted.

By all accounts, she just showed up tinkering one day, gaining the attention of Hero, who ended up bringing her into the Protectorate where she rapidly gained even more of a name for herself.

It was odd, she never once interfered with the PRT or the Protectorate, never arranged things to let a villain escape, never sabotaged anyone or any plans.

Yet both the Number Man and Contessa were unable to properly find a way to bring her into the inner circle of Cauldon that _didn’t_ end with her turning against them.

A problem for sure, especially considering that when both the Number Man and Contessa were working towards a goal together, it would take an Endbringer or Scion to stop them from completing it. Therefore, the fact that the odds of Icarus siding with Cauldon never went above forty-five percent, and every Path that Contessa made, with the caveat of Icarus not betraying Cauldon while still telling her about the group, always ended with some form of Icarus being shot in the back of the head.

This discovery lead to a deeper investigation of Icarus, which lead to the discovery of inconsistencies in her life.

She had no family, no friends outside heroing that could be found or contacted, and seemingly nothing to her name aside from a record detailing her life, a bank account, and an apartment that she never visited.

While cutting one’s self off from the world wasn’t uncommon for a cape (due to heroing turning into a full time job to keep their identities a secret), even Alexandria took time off or checked up on her family (even if it was from afar).

Icarus on the other hand did none of this, as she was either being Icarus, or had somehow vanished for a short time before returning to work, never saying where she had been.

This mystery, coupled with the two best Thinkers of Cauldon being unable to work out a way to get her on their side, had led to unwanted friction between the members. As much as Alexandria wanted to trust Icarus, the fact that she would apparently betray them, even after learning about Scion, Eden, and the Agents, meant that measures had to be taken.

Keying back up her radio, Alexandria called for the scouting team to weigh anchor.

Three ships broke free from the fleet: smaller ones, each only carrying a handful of crew. They headed downwards, towards Tāwhirimātea, joined by Alexandria, Legend, Eidolon, and Argonaut.

More than anything, this was what this attack was truly about. Of all of the Endbringers, Tāwhirimātea was the only one able to be accessed easily; the Big Three placed themselves in places that made access… difficult, to say the least.

Shari-Hulud was in constant motion, and while parts of the Endbringer could be gathered with ease, most of what had been found had been revealed to be little more than compacted dirt, molecularly rearranged and held together with some kind of energy field to make it capable of standing up against military-grade weapons.

As for Eukaryote… well, despite what people thought of their governments, they weren’t _stupid._

This meant that it was Tāwhirimātea that gave the best chances for research into Endbringers, not only in regards in how they worked, but also in the best ways in killing them.

Against the vast size of Tāwhirimātea, the small ships appeared even smaller, like a car before a mountain.

With the wind and rain picking up, flight-capable capes with Brute ratings backed by several others with gear built by Icarus descended onto the Endbringer, the rest of the Silver Seven following then down.

As she flew down, Alexandria got her first real close look at the Endbringer. Like all the others, Tāwhirimātea was unique in its composition.

Similar to a mix of Behemoth and Leviathan, Tāwhirimātea’s surface was a bumpy and knotted mix of crags, ridges, and divots. It had Leviathan’s rough texture, as well as portions of his rolling musculature, particularly around the shielded openings. Yet at the same time it had craggy sections like Behemoth, with twisted and jagged protrusions jutted up or outward, like spires, or thorns.

Setting down, Alexandria was quick to float over to a team lowering equipment from one of the ships, lines extending from a pulley system to lower down several crates of tech.

“Ten minutes!” she yelled over the rising winds and the noises of the Endbringer, cutting some time off of the timer for their sake. “No more! If you’re still here five after that, we won’t hold our fire!”

The cape, a man that had seemly taken the full Knight theme a little too far, turned to her as he held onto a rope, water pouring down his plate armor and the jet attachments that were preventing them from being knocked over from the winds.

“Trust us, we’ll be gone before then. None of us want to be here when the fleet opens up!”

Alexandria nodded and turned away from the cape (actually a woman, from the voice), to look out at the other nearby teams.

Several people were hard at work taking samples from the surface, with both mundane equipment and Tinker-Tech being used.

“Ma’am!” one the of figures waved to her and she flew over.

“He hit it with the mining laser!” he shouted, gesturing to the very large gun at his side, his friend holding onto it as well to keep it upright.

“It worked, but only for a bit before the skin stopped being… laserable! But take a look at this!”

The man gestured at the ‘skin’ of the Endbringer, and it took Alexandria a moment to see what he was talking about.

It was _moving_. Rippling into rows and lines and divots, flowing like it was being pressed or etched into shape, then shifted back into a nearly smooth surface once more.

“I know, right?!” shouted the man. “Just when you’ve thought you’ve seen it all!”

Alexandria had thought that it was the rain, that the flowing waters were playing tricks on her.

But now…

_Now she saw it._

The spires, they weren’t static, but _shifting_ , growing and altering subtly as time passed. The thorns and crags would twist slightly, becoming either harsher or softer in no particular sequence. The musculature around the shielded areas flexing lightly, water seemingly draining away through some hidden gap.

It hadn’t impacted her before, not really, not in a way that had _weight._

She was standing on top of a _living creature,_ even though she considered those words a stretch.

This was the closest that she’d ever been to Tāwhirimātea. There was never any reason before now, not one that was more than a glance. The fact that it never acted aggressive meant there was never a reason to interact with the Endbringer, one just needed to bunker down or avoid it, similar to how the Ash Beast was once treated.

Everybody in the fleet understood that this mission was very likely a one-way trip: one does not simply fly into the sky to fight a god in their own territory, after all. The best that many of them could hope for was that they could outrun or outclimb Tāwhirimātea’s storm in the fleet, or that they would be teleported out by another cape (including the Doormaker, if necessary).

In fact, were it not for the promise of rewards and the Silver Seven’s own words of this working, as well as committing themselves to the task, Alexandria doubted that would have gotten _half_ of the people they needed.

Even as it was most of the crews aboard the ships were unpowered personnel, people whose job was to help watch over the ships while most of the capes were out fighting, as well as to keep any supplies moving during the attack.

_“Assault Teams, be advised: current data suggests that the storm is increasing in intensity, both inside and outside the Eyewall. I suggest picking up the pace… but that’s just a suggestion!”_

_“Thank you, Dragon, we understand what you mean,”_ Legend comforted the new Tinker. _“How is your system coping?”_

_“Good so far! There are some things that I’ll need to work on to refine the system, but I should be able to have a proper communications system set up for future Endbringers’ attacks that will allow several things to be automated, though like this attack, coordination will have to be handled by capes in the field, but it will be easier to work out plans on the fly.”_

Dragon was a relatively new cape, but one that was making a name for herself with her computer skills. Already she had earned Watchdog’s respect for her help in tech and computer security cape activities, her suits and Dragon Tech a name in the public eye, and was well on her way to joining the Guild due to all of this.

Contessa and Doctor Mother were interested in Dragon, which meant that she had a power that caught their attention.

Alexandria felt somewhat bad for the new cape. One way or another, it was rarely a ‘good thing’ when the founders of Cauldron started paying particular attention to someone, but there was always a reason for it.

Several of her drone craft were in the fleet, serving as flying eyes and sensors for the assault team, but they were limited in scope and few in number.

Alexandria watched as several of the scout teams were quick to flee back to their ships, a few having to be supported by each other in the building gale. Which was good, the more people that were safe on the ship, the more people that could use a power or weapon against Tāwhirimātea.

_“There is… something else…”_ continued Dragon. _“I’ve picked up a transmission, coming from… Tāwhirimātea. I don’t quite know what it is, but I have narrowed it down to somewhere near her head.”_

_“A transmission, coming_ from _Tāwhirimātea?!”_ Argonaut asks.

_“No... not_ from _her, it’s coming from her surface I think, and it’s more like a beacon. I don’t know what it’s saying, but I can tell that it’s a simple and short pattern; a bunch of the support people are working on it right now. It could be a transponder for some Tinker-Tech, or even a distress beacon.”_

_“We’ll check it out,”_ states Legend. _“We’re faster and everyone else can finish prepping while we go. Alexandria? Eidolon?”_

“Copy,” confirmed Alexandria, Eidolon saying something similar moments later.

Dragon explained the rough placement for where the signal originated, using the distance from Tāwhirimātea’s edges to mark out where it could be.

In between the rain and the fact that things tended to blur when she was at high speed, Alexandria was forced to fly slowly, the group of three heroes quickly setting up a search pattern.

It was Eidolon that found it, and the others were quick to fly over to where the man was floating safely within his glowing shield.

Tāwhirimātea’s surface was a mix between symmetry and asymmetry; there were sections that were clearly mirrored, yet there also were outcroppings and sections that varied, in some cases wildly.

These ranged from places that contained blister-like formations, a set of smaller but numerous shielded holes, a few interlinked outcroppings, there were even places that looked scarred and burnt over, the flesh twisted and warped, like something had melted it away.

Despite that, much of the Endbringer's surface was largely uniform in design and texture, unchanging aside from how it was generally laid out for hundreds of feet.

Beneath the heroes, however, at one would best describe as the center of its manta ray-style ‘head,’ was a section that differed from its ‘normal’ surface.

A set of three-ringed pillars, all curved inward, like a bullseye of ribs.

And in the center of them all, was a rotating human-sized red crystal, vaguely heart-shaped, all angles and edges.

Alexandria could see all of this with ease, not only because of her eyesight, but also because the rain failed to fall within the rings. Instead, it curved away, like it was hitting a dome, the outermost ring getting most of the water, while the middle one caught anything that slipped through, leaving the innermost ring completely dry.

“It’s the only thing that’s different,” Eidolon stated. “And I have a power that can detect signals, but the location is…”

There were many theories on the Endbringers, Cauldon even had explored a few as best as they could (though trying to _make_ an Endbringer was shot down by Contessa, as any Paths in that direction were blocked), but they were at best theories _._

This did not stop people from trying to make sense of the Endbringers, attributing all sorts of things to them, ranging from everything being a Simurgh Plot, to Eukaryote being Nature’s Vengeance given form.

But they all shared similar traits: being hard to kill, having powers far outside the norm, being capable of destroying anything and everything in their paths…

Yet none of them had done something like _this._

Then again, Tāwhirimātea had always been _different,_ even in regards to what and Endbringer _did._

Suddenly, Legend began to hover downwards.

“What are you doing!?” Alexandria yelled.

Legend glanced back over at the pair of floating heroes. “Are we just going to see this and then walk away from it?”

Eidolon was the first to follow, with Alexandria hesitating for several moments before flying down behind him.

The trio descended into the ring, powers at the ready as the traveled into it. Alexandria was expecting the water to get sloughed off of them as they passed through each section, but instead, it was like the falling rain was being _redirected_ away from the rings rather than a shield being in place to deflect it.

Alexandria noted that the crystal was larger than her estimate, and only superficially resembled a heart, more like a child’s straight-lined version of one; all straight lines and angles, with the top ‘prongs’ being far smaller and sharper than what would normally pass for the shape.

Still, to her eyes, it was a [heart.](https://youtu.be/hXIt6oCl8gU)

Each hero kept their eyes open as they circled around the rings, wary for an ambush or attack of some sort.

“… I’m not picking up anything with my Thinker powers,” Eidolon stated. “Just a general sense of unease, but nothing to suggest an attack here.”

“Though considering how well those powers work with Endbringers, that is not surprising,” said Legend.

“Tāwhirimātea has broken the mold with Endbringers before,” stated Alexandria. “Its path can be plotted with ease, it never goes after major population centers, flies over Behemoth’s attack sites, and while its full capabilities are blurred, the world’s Thinkers have already determined that it’s been flexing its powers inconsistently as it travels.”

This was yet another reason the attack had been pushed forward; Tāwhirimātea’s storm could be analyzed and while its full effects and how they worked had yet to be understood, there was enough evidence to suggest that it needed time to recharge in-between ‘sessions,’ times when the effects of the storm were much more pronounced.

Places would become overgrown in days, deserts would become forests, lands ravaged by pollution and destruction would become repaired.

Thinkers, both of the powered and non-powered variety, had figured out years ago that Tāwhirimātea’s flight plan revolved around this fact; hitting seemingly random places, but actually performing a counterclockwise excursion across the globe, moving in a way that would hit places that were sufficiently ‘damaged’ every few weeks.

“So… thoughts on this?” Eidolon asks. “Some kind of decoration? Like the Simurgh’s wings? We know that she doesn’t need them to fly.”

“But the Simurgh doesn’t bother to hide her wings, or protect them,” Alexandria countered. “And while I doubt this is anything important…”

The unspoken words of, ‘why is it here and protected from the rain then?’ echoed through the minds of the heroes.

“… Should we try and take it?” Eidolon asked. “Add it to the collection of samples?”

It was a tempting prospect, as there were only so many Endbringer samples in existence.

Eukaryote had no samples (for obvious reasons), the Simurgh’s were under lock and key (just in case), Shari-Hulud’s were found to be nothing more than dirt pushed together with some sort of power to make it into incomplete layered alloy armor, and Leviathan’s bits were almost impossible to find after his fights.

Behemoth had the greatest amount of samples, and what they’d found didn’t look promising for defeating the Endbringers with conventional means.

But more samples were always needed; the more they had, the more they could test with powers, the better the chances they would find something they could use to defeat them.

“It could be useless decoration, or it could be some sort of power conduct,” Legend says, floating around it slowly.

“… At this point, we should take what we can, and hope for the best. It isn’t like we aren’t going to piss Tāwhiri off and then be ready to run away in a few minutes anyway.”

“I’ll grab it then,” Alexandria declared. “It would be better than Eidolon, I can move fast enough th-“

_“Uh, guys?”_ Argonaut called. _“We’ve figured out what the message is saying, and well…”_

“You’ve managed to decode it?” asks Legend in the following silence.

_“That’s the thing, we_ didn’t, _”_ stated Argonaut.

_“It just decoded by itself as the teams were looking at it. Then I lost contact with the outside teams when it started broadcasting on their channels, and I can’t even contact Dragon on her network. We need to leave by the way, and I recommend doing it_ quickly.”

“What are you talking about?” Eidolon demanded. “How did you los-“

The radio squealed in Alexandria’s ear, causing her to flinch and slap one hand to her helmet. the other two heroes did the same, Legend being the only one to remove it before the sound faded.

And then was replaced by something else.

It echoed across all channels, four words on repeat. A never-ending loop of a _single_ , _direct_ **_question._**

** WHY **

****

** ARE **

****

** YOU **

****

**_ HERE? _ **

As the question was asked, broadcast across the entire network, the winds shifted, howling outside the shield. The rain came heavier, fat drops splashing around into the middle ring, a few splatters flicking up to land within the center.

The clouds shifted and rolled, lightning flashed across the sky, outlining the fleet as it approached, and casting strange shadows that seemed to move of their own accord.

A rumbling came from Tāwhirimātea, her wings flexing, seemingly like the Endbringer was stretching out to reach into the storm.

Faintly, music could be heard, a chorus of noises, like an electric choir.

With a shove of its wings, Tāwhiri forced its way up, right into the middle of the descending fleet.

Yet there were no collisions, as Tāwhirimātea slowed, settling into place _within_ the fleet, the many ships wildly maneuvering as they panicked, more at risk of hitting each other than the Endbringer.

And just as suddenly, it all stopped, the rain, the wind, and the sounds accompanying them.

There was _silence_ in the Eye of the storm.

Then… a voice, carrying deep and echoing _eerie_ lilt to it that marked it as something _else_ spoke.

**“What you interfere with now is bigger than you can imagine.”**

The trio of heroes spun around to face the source, the speaker in question stomping towards them on heavy double-jointed legs, while its words carried the weight and power of confidence mixed with _flair._

It was far taller than any of the heroes present, an easy eight feet, even hunched over as it was. Its four legs were linked to a long, thin torso, from within a glow echoed faintly from. Spindly, with interlocked connections- like a twisted lattice of black bone that flowed up to a wide set of shoulders, which stretched onward to a wisp of a neck.

Water dripped off a bone-white flat face, which contained no eyes, but instead had four diagonal recessed slashes, each containing a blue glow within, the rest of its being segmented, divided up like armored sections, insectoid-like. A set of four horns jutted from the top of its head, one pair being warped and twisted, as if it had been burned or melted away, with its partner being all but snapped off at the base.

A double pair of arms- one set located high on its rounded orange fin-like shoulders, the other just below them- shifted as it moved, a four-fingered claw reaching out to grasp onto one of the nearby pillars as it walked over Tāwhirimāteas surface toward the group.

**“If you continue, you will bring down our Gilded Enemies’ wrath upon us _both_.”**

It was only in the flashes of distant lighting that they were able to see the full texture and colors of the figure; a black base, with soft oranges layered along the major body parts- like the shoulders and thighs- and bone-bleached white arranged along something that could pass for armor- placed along the forearms, knees, face, and chest.

Ridges and lines and raised areas dotted its surface, curving along like veins on a leaf, while dots of blue and green lights rippled and flowed over its skin and along the gaps of bone-white armor, reminiscent of bioluminescence, drawing the eye towards the soft curves and gentle angles, as well as the long-reaching lines of the figure.

**“It has been _foreseen_.”**

It was inhumanly graceful as it moved, symmetrical and shaped in ways that marked it as organic, from the form and workings of the joints as they bent and shifted, to the placement of where one part flowed into the next -yet the curves and arches were too well placed, devoid of evolution’s compromises.

Watching the figure approach was like walking a clock work, every piece had its place, every part served a purpose.

Yet its surface was potted and pitted and damaged, tiny imperfections here and there that altered the flow of the falling water on its downward journey. Not scars or battle damage, aside from the clearly damaged horns, but something not mechanical, not made that way, but something that was formed, grown, like the freckles on someone’s skin.

Slowly, the figure walked within the outer ring, one arm trailing along the pillars as it circled the heroes, who backed away, forming a line to ready themselves for an attack.

**“Those that hide behind their gilded false-warriors, puppeteering their exhaustible forces, hidden within the _twisted_ forbidden space that they claim to have gained mastery over.”**

The pillars _r i p p l e d_ under its touch, flexing and shifting texture as they were fluidly altered from curving inward points, into head-height carved formations, the type one would expect to see in front of a public building to show off its splendor.

**“The Foe, so _hated,_ so _feared,_ acting out their long-forgotten echo of false, _corrupted,_ light.”**

Several more pillars flexed and shifted, mimicking the others, even while others _melted_ and _dissolved_ into a black-red fluid, draining seemingly straight into Tāwhirimātea’s surface.

**“You know none of this, do you? What are you thinking, I wonder? That you can endure the coming storm? That you might escape the coming White Fire from those that lurk and plot, hidden away?”**

The figure stopped circling, and turned to face the assembled heroes, flashes in the distance from silent lightening twisting its shadow and outline into something… _more._

Its posture suggested not confidence, but _ease,_ as if having a conversation on top of an Endbringer with three of the Protectorates' most powerful heroes was a normal occurrence.

With that same ease it shook its head, one hand flicking out in a hard slash through the air.

**“ _No…_ The incoming storm is Eternal and ** **_Inevitable_ ; you cannot escape it. This world of yours will _drown,_ instigated by your own actions and attempts to save it. Not even you, the, _Silver Seven,_ will stand, unbroken, from your lofty lairs in the aftermath to witness the Ascension, the culmination of a Great Journey. For all of this was ordained, and will be; no matter your wants, no matter what we wish, know this is how it always will be.”**

Despite the words, Alexandria noted the figure's words were… resigned and forlorn, not as powerful and _commanding_ as before.

There was a faint scratching noise as the figure caressed one of the pillars, arms and body seeming to slump as its words caught up to it.

**“… Even my people failed to stand against them, driven back by weapons and horrors that you can not even _begin_ to comprehend.”**

**“… You know none of this, yes, and my words bring nothing but questions… but it is _I,_ that will extract answers _first._ Because the question _I_ have is of the utmost importance.”**

It advanced, then and there, stomping forwards as it raised its four arms up, grandly gesturing all around as the storm and Tāwhirimātea, as it looked at each of the heroes in turn.

**“ _Why are you here?”_**

**“David?”**

It had no eyes, yet the hero was pinned in in place by the gaze, the shield he had thrown up flickering in colors.

**“Nathan?”**

Legend shifted, his face hardening as the sightless gaze was turned onto him, hands up and glowing with untapped power.

**“Rebecca?”**

Alexandria on the other hand… the only reason she had yet to rush forward in attack, was because of the timer slowly ticking away in her HUD.

**“Have you truly considered your actions here?”** it asked, one claw reaching out to caress one of the pillars that now ringed the middle platform, just _feet_ from the heroes. **“Of what is to come from it? Of the** ** _unforeseen consequences?_ ”**

**“For I do not believe you have; desperation has led you here: a city, lost. A hero, fallen. And a pact… _broken._ You… you ** **_need_ a symbol of your might, an icon, something to show the world that the Dark End is not yet to come. But it is, all things come to an end, in one way or another.”**

None of the heroes responded, Eidolon shifting his gaze to Legend and Alexandria in the stretching silence, the surreality giving them more than just _pause._

“… you know about us, about the Protectorate? About capes? About _Humans?_ You understand us?” asked Alexandria.

It was important to ask, even though the answer was fairly obvious, it _needed_ to be asked.

The figure scoffed and flicked a hand into the air, dismissively, before turning to resume circling the trio with a heavy tread.

**“Oh… I know you, I know _all_ of you. I know of the woman-that-is-not-a-woman, chained and imprisoned within her own mind; I know of the killer-turned-companion, the one that sees the world in what-could-be’s; I know of the boy whose vision sees all, yet his mind is lost to what it was before.”**

The figure reached out and ran his claws over the pillars as he spoke, never stopping his circling.

**“I know of the distilled essence that is bartered for favors, of the slumbering men and women, laying in wait for the moment you need them the most. I know of the _wild dogs_ that you let run wild and free, _unchained,_ all the while building your fences and convincing people that it is safe behind them, never revealing how easy it would be to eliminate those _rabid rats.”_ **

**“Yes, there are many things I know, of a girl that killed a god, and the Twisted Garden that was left behind, yet there are others outside my knowledge. Knowledge like you now seek yourselves.”**

“… what are you?” asked Alexandria after several moments of shock, shifting to fly that _tiny_ bit higher.

“Are you a cape? Some kind of Tinker construction? Or are you _Tāwhirimātea?_ ”

‘Are we talking to an Endbringer?’ was the unspoken question.

Attempts had been made by others in talking or communicating to the Endbringers, though they were few and far between aside from the Simurgh’s first appearance, and everyone knew how that turned out.

And now, to find _this,_ to have a conversation with something that looked like it was part of the very Endbringer they were standing upon, a conversation that touched upon secrets that were known by a select few and hidden away for a _reason_ …

It did not bode well for Caldron and their plans.

**“ _That,_ is _not_ my Sisters name… though she has grown to enjoy it,”** grumbled the figure.

“… sister? What do you mean _sister?_ ” Eidolon demands, shield flaring up. “Are you some kind of… _proto-Endbringer?_ ”

The figure shook its head slowly and sadly, coming to a stop from his pacing to face the red crystal.

**“See, Sister? They insult you, comparing you to those… _puppets!_ As if they are anything compared to _you!_ ”**

_“_ Answer the _damn question!”_

_“Eidolon!”_

The hero glanced over at Legend, a set of six orbs that were changing size and color every few seconds circling him.

Alexandria understood, perhaps better than Legend did, it was different for him. Both she and Eidolon had given their _lives_ to heroing, and while Eidolon wasn’t _quite_ living the double life she was, Alexandria knew that he spent just as much time in costume as he did with Cauldron.

Yet his actions were was concerning; Eidolon was their best bet for fighting Scion and the Endbringers, but there was only so much one man could do, especially with his powers starting to wane as time went by.

Endbringers had already proven that they learned and adapted, they could think, plan, and remember; if this figure was either the start of a new one, or the voice of the Endbringers themselves and knew about Cauldron…

Then everything they had worked towards would be for naught, something that would be _crushing_ to Eidolon, given the heaps of hope they had placed upon the man’s shoulders.

**“Would it matter if I did?** ** _Truly?_ ” **asked the figure. **“For the answers I give will simply incite more questions, and invoke more questions that I have no answer for. To say nothing for ones _I will not give.”_**

It renewed its pacing, this time moving away from the trio of heroes, back out into the area unprotected from the rising winds and rains.

**“And as for _who_ I am?”**

The figure turned, facing the heroes, as flashes of movement behind him, revealed… _creatures,_ rapidly descending from the sky.

Orange, white with sections of black, they _unfolded_ , with arms that either ended in long U-shaped sections, or extended down to hold onto blunt interments. A second pair of limbs extended from their midpoint, one on each side, while their legs tapered down from large ‘thighs’ to points.

They seemed to be split in two, with the sole link connecting each side of their bodies being at their heads, each side being roughly symmetrical.

Some had large black and orange fins nearly the size of their bodies, others had far smaller white ones. Each in the center of each of them, a blue glow emanated, flaring and emitting.

Several more fell from the sky, these wielding kite-like shields on of their arms, with a golden glow coming from a hole in its center. More built up in the frame, these ones had thicker bodies and were more white-colored, with the shield carrying arm being more articulated.

These new units floated forwards, shifting to arrange themselves into a formation behind the figure, standing ready after slamming their shields down behind him.

All the while, the winds and rain and _lightning_ picked up, casting strange moving shadows in the sky, while the newcomers hummed and sang with an electric chorus, harmony somehow existing within their sounds of disharmony, slowly shifting in place with their limbs.

**“… I am Sajuuk, _Vanguard_ of my people, and _you_ are _not_ welcome here.”**

Above, the fleet moved into position, holding in place at points where powers could open fire upon Tāwhirimātea without hitting each other.

And Sajuuk glanced up at them, taking them in as they fought against the winds to maintain position.

They had planned for this; in case of a radio blackout, the attack was to continue, unless someone signaled using a flare for it to stop.

It was questioned, why?

Would it not make sense for the fleet to turn around and figure out what was causing the blackout? To figure out a way around it and overcome it?

… But there was a very good reason why the attack _had to_ continue, why it couldn’t be stopped from the moment they were committed to it.

**“… I should kill you all where you stand, lest you _interfere_ with the unfolding Plan,” **stated Sajuuk, casting his sightless gaze back to the heroes.

**“Mucking about in the dark as you are, unaware of the danger hidden within it. But it is the wisdom of my Sister that you will be spared, that you still serve some purpose for the Plan, so… I will ask you this once and only once.”**

Like a showman, Sajuuk twisted his body and arms, two of them flexing outwards in a flourish.

**“Would you kindly… _LEAVE._ ”**

**“… oh, I’m sorry… were you expecting something _else?_ ”** Sajuuk asked, his head tilting while somehow emoting a grin, despite lacking a face able to do that.

**“My sister demanded me to be…** **_polite,_ ** **to you all, and I have, even though you have come to attack her.”**

The last part was echoed in a growl, the floating shield units shifting until they pointed their weapon arms at the heroes, causing the trio to better brace themselves for an attack.

**“After all, what is to come will render everything you have done and worked towards as _useless_ , and set you against one another like _wild dogs_.”**

**“… Though that won’t be much of a change for you,”** Sajuuk mused. **“Given how you snap out at those that don’t fit within your paradigm, and work to shift the world into what you see as the ‘best’ future for your goals, heedless of those you crush underfoot.”**

“We are not some secret…” Legend began, anger hot in his voice, before pausing to consider his words. 

“… our actions and choices have _always_ been for the betterment and protection of others! There had been some times that we have had to step in and deal with things in an unconventional manner _yes,_ but those times were extreme, times that there were no good options! We are _heroes!_ Not… _warlords_ , like you seem to think we are!”

Alexandra could understand Legend's frustration, they were lacking key intel on what was happening and were on the back foot. Were it not for the fact they hadn’t been attacked already, Alexandria would have slammed into this, _‘Sajuuk,’_ in an attempt to see what it knew.

As it was, they were getting more from _not_ doing anything than doing something, and as long as Legend didn’t get any more of his buttons pushed and Eidolon didn’t lash out in the same way.

He was already upset enough that this plan didn’t have anything to do with him other than assisting the others, finding out that there was even _more_ to the Endbringers he would struggle to fight against would likely drive him to the edge.

**“You? You claim to _be heroes?”_ **asked Sajuuk. **“You believe that your masks make you powerful, important, and safe, hidden behind them as you are?”**

**“ _No,_ ” **continued Sajuuk. **“Not _here_ , not in the ways that matter. Behind those masks, you are nothing but children playing a game, just like we were, once.”**

**“And children _always_ grow up, _whether they like it or not.”_**

**“And you are, _children,”_** Sajuuk mocked **. _“_ Messing with things you don’t understand, playing around and declaring yourself _heroes_ and _protectors_ , despite the world burning down around you.”**

**“It is for this reason I give you this chance, _a single chance,_ to leave and neve-“**

Sajuuk paused, then spun impossibly fast, his gaze casting out into the fleet.

**_“What is that?”_ **

On Alexandria’s HUD, the countdown reached zero.

Deep within the hold of the _Gungnir,_ a system finished clicking on. A power supply, which had been connected only when the fleet had gathered outside the eyewall, finished changing.

Several locks disengaged, clunking as they were freed from their places, and the side hatch opened, a simple electric motor pulled from a motorized gate chugging away.

The way was cleared, and power continued to flow through the large device that was mounted onto the very frame of the ship.

And then the D-Driver Model 6 fired.

It wasn’t quite a beam that was fired as much it was a ray of blue light, not too dissimilar to a flashlight clicking on in the dark.

Despite the lackluster appearance, it _tore_ through Tāwhirimātea, burning a hole straight through her body in a matter of _seconds,_ before blasting out the other side, leaving behind a simmering gaping wound while short-lived steam billowed out from around the ray.

The Endbringer **_screamed,_** a horrific sound, one that seemed to _s h a t t e r_ the very skies itself as it echoed throughout the storm in a near electric wail of radio static turned to eleven.

Tāwhirimātea juked, all but throwing herself to the side to try and get away from the ray of light, seemingly willing to endure the pain of the shot cutting across her form in an attempt to get away.

But the weapon followed her, controlled by gimbles to keep the ray on target, further assisted by the _Gungnir_ firing its engines up to keep the Endbringer in line of sight, prevent it from escaping.

The D-Driver _raked_ across Tāwhirimātea, internal motors moving to shift its fire from left to right to further spread the damage out.

Sajuuk was driven to his _knees_ by the force of his screaming, his forces falling into disarray as they reacted to the damage being done to Tāwhirimātea.

Shield units fluttered and collapsed. Several of the smaller units, the ones not carrying shields, tumbled away, seemingly unconscious as they fell and bounced away via Tāwhirimāteas rolling.

For the heroes it was a different story, as each of them could fly, it was easy to keep up with Tāwhirimātea as she tried to dive and turn through the air, the ray always seeming to keep her in its sights as she-

The ray faded away, the capacitors having spent their charge up for that attack, and the sky grew quiet.

Sajuuk shuttered and gasped, his limbs splayed out as he righted to right himself, wavering and disoriented.

**“…You, you _DARE!?!?!_ ” **shouted Sajuuk, his voice crackling with an electronic tone that hadn’t been there before.

He rose up on shaky legs, one arm limp and spasming, face and body language full of _hate._

**“Such _arrogance!_ Even our FOE knows better to attack us in such a manner!! This disgrace will not go unpun-“**

From within the _Gungnir,_ the capacitors finished charging back up, and the D-Driver fired once more.

And one more the sky was filled with screaming.

Through the efforts of the Clairvoyant, the Number Man, and Contessa, many capes with great powers and skills had been found, but it was one Tinker that had set his entire plan into motion.

String Theory, a villain who used her tech to threaten people and locations, able to strike near anywhere in the world, delivering untold power with her weapons.

And in several simulations they had run with Contessa and the Number Man, it was those same weapons that would drive back _Endbringers_.

Alexandria _hated_ that they had been forced to work with her, to give her resources and money and a _lab_ , just so she could build them a weapon.

A weapon that showed String Theory that just because she could only _use_ her weapons once, didn’t mean they only could be _fired_ once.

Alexandria _knew_ that they would have to lean on the resources of Cauldron to track her down later, utilizing the Clairvoyant and the Doormaker to get her before she destroyed a portion of a continent with her tech.

But for now? The Tinker’s large weapon was instrumental in destroying Tāwhirimātea, and served as proof of concept that Endbringers _could_ be destroyed.

From the fleet came waves of fire, as capes used both their powers and the Tinker weaponry at their disposal to rain hell upon Tāwhirimātea.

The sky was filled with a rainbow of colors and effects from the many capes, some flying capes dropping bombs or doing runs upon the Endbringer.

And Tāwhirimātea… _fired… **back**_ **.**

From lifted sections of her surface, areas where the rocky crags emerged, purple, blue, and gold energy coalesced, shifting into bolts and beams that raked back at the fleet, slamming into shields and hulls alike.

But they had planned for this, and with a combination of powers and Tinker-Tech, backed up by Argonaut’s power providing that little bit more of protection, only a handful of ships received damage.

Those that did fell back, sliding behind other ships of the fleet to lessen the damage.

Yet it wasn’t solely Tāwhirimātea that had to watch out for, as the storm seemed to come _alive_ and reached out to crash into the fleet.

Winds shoved against the flying craft, forcing them to maneuver wildly to avoid hitting one another. Lightning _cracked_ and flashed, manifesting in both bolts and balls, reaching out from both Tāwhirimātea and the very skies themselves to hammer away at the fleet.

But this was something that the assault team had accounted for as well; like Behemoth and Leviathan, it was clear that Tāwhirimātea had mastery over the skies, as such, countermeasures had been made.

Capacitors and shields, lines of copper to create faraday cages, Argonauts own power dampening effect born from his projections. All of this combined with the fleet movements, carefully plotted as best as they could to give the best angles for their firepower, while maintaining distance between the other ships and Tāwhirimātea herself.

It created a shifting battle line, where Tāwhirimātea tried throwing her mass to one side of the eye to avoid the fleet, while said fleet did their best to not die and keep up the pressure on the Endbringer.

And throughout all of this, Sajuuk screamed alongside his forces and Tāwhirimātea, while the trio of heroes watched impassively.

There would be no compassion from them.

“… you claim to know things about us,” Alexandria states. “Things that I _really_ _wish_ I could interrogate you in _how_ you know about them. But that isn’t in the cards, there is too much at stake for us to risk taking you alive just for that.”

“Because if you know about Cauldron, about Eden, then you know about our _goals_.”

“You will be a stepping stone Sajuuk,” declared Alexandria. “You and Tāwhirimātea both. There have been too many sacrifices from too many people, for it’s not just this world that is in danger.”

“But you know that already _, don’t you?_ ”

Sajuuk roared and rose, as if to charge at Alexandria and the other pair, only to fall to the ground once more as the D-Driver fired once again.

“There still will be many sacrifices to come,” Alexandria continued. “But that is something we’ve come to accept.”

Behind her, Legend steeled himself at Alexandria’s words, knowing that there were no _good_ options in their self-appointed task. Because he knew that she was right, there was too much at stake, and he was no stranger to making those choices.

Eidolon, however, remained impassive, seemingly unmoved by Sajuuk now that the attack had crippled him and his forces. His instead eyes were on the fleet and the attack itself, having long ago condemned himself to walk his path, of what the event they were working towards, and his legacy that would form because of it.

“So yes, we are _heroes,_ ” Alexandria mocked. “We are the ones that stand before people like _you,_ but we are hardly _children_.”

“We each have faced hardship, just like everyone on this world we are trying to protect, like _all_ the worlds we are trying to protect. And we will not only try our hardest to save them, but do what must be done to sav-“

Sajuuk, with grunts and a roar of effort, lifted an arm into the sky as Alexandria spoke, seemingly fighting against an immense pain, his fingers having curled into claws.

And then with a roar, swiped them down in the direction of the _Gungnir._

The skies _parted,_ something _cracking_ through the air in a _rush_ and _boom_ of _wind_ and _fire_ , moving so fast that the rains were _shoved_ away, radiating out to clear the skies of water.

The _Gungnir_ was snapped in half by the impact, its stern looking to impact its bow for the briefest of moments-

Before the Tinker-made weapon within consumed it in a blaze of green fire that _cracked_ through the air.

A ray of sunlight outlined the explosion, brought forth by whatever had torn though the ship.

That light gave clarity to the world, revealing all of the fleet, now having halted their fire, and all of Tāwhirimātea, as well all that stood upon her surface in the brightness of the day.

Sajuuk shuddered, his frame twisting and rolling.

And then _stood_.

Gone was the body language of a showman, of something relatable to the human senses. Instead, something _else_ stood before the trio of heroes.

**“… I was willing to let you go,”** Sajuuk said into the stillness of the storm. **“To let you retreat, _unharmed_ , not for your sakes, but for _my_ people’s.”**

**“But now you’ve stepped into a _war,_ ”** growled Sajuuk as the winds picked up, the clouds in the background all starting to flow in one direction.

**“One that you have no hope of winning, _despite_ our limited numbers. We might be used to fighting in the shadows against our foe, but that doesn’t mean we won’t _step into the light._ ”**

From above, a _boom_ of displaced air sounded, as the sky was split once again.

Large shapes, the size of houses, _crashed_ down with the rain into Tāwhirimātea, impacting straight into her hull with their pointed tips, their surface red and burning from their speed, while steam poured from their bodies.

Like the smaller floaters, these newcomers shared the orange, white, and black color scheme. However, they lacked arms, despite the almost _human_ -like shape.

There were two long sections that extended over the top of the main body in a loop, with smaller positions that criss-crossed over the frame underneath them. A glow flared from within the main bodies, as their surfaces cooled and healed over.

But not entirely, for as Tāwhirimāteas surface _flexed_ near the impact sites, as one, two… five… eight… _eleven_ of the new arrivals came down, rocking the Endbringer with impacts.

And through the rain and steam, Alexandria noted they were _damaged_.

Positions of their surface were marred with melted areas, like distorted clay, with several missing sections of their bodies, one not even having the loops on the top of it.

The surface of Tāwhirimātea rippled and flowed, positions of her surface lifting up like tendrils to grasp at the new arrivals, who flexed in return as they became interlinked with the Endbringer.

With a rolling wave, Tāwhirimāteas surface _changed_. Areas where the shields were shifted and rose up, displacing buckets of fallen rainwater, becoming slopes that entered into her depths.

Sections around the newcomer’s altered, growing pillars made of harsh lines from which lightning flowed across, which not only reached into the spinning sky, casting everything in flashes of light, but also into the bodies of the things that had impacted into her surface.

With strange groans, the newcomer’s loops disconnected from their fronts, and reached out and then toward their centers, grasping at the seam running down their middle.

Then they pulled open their chests to reveal glowing orbs, out from which numerous numbers of the smaller units appeared in flashes of blue light.

Several new designs landed and twisted in place, some looking like floating faces with large eyes, others have a multitude of arms, some looking like flying stick-dog analogs, all floating above the surface of Tāwhirimātea for mere moments, before shooting away in every direction.

Tāwhirimāteas tendrils reached out to help these spawners, opening them open even further, two going as far as being overrun by the tendrils, melting into Tāwhirimāteas surface until it resembled a ball of light, held in place by twisting, knotted branches.

The raised shield sections shifted and spilt in the middle, revealing that they were not _barriers_ , but closed doorways, and even more of the growing army flowed from out within the Endbringer.

Within mere _minutes_ , Tāwhirimātea was _overrun_ by these many types of flyers and floaters, their humming and electric buzzing strong enough to be heard even over the now roaring winds.

Like an angry wasps’ nest, they flew, floated, and crawled over the damaged Endbringers surface, distorting her outline, and adding more noise to the now **hammering** of the rain, and the **roar** of the twirling winds.

**“… forget heaven… let us revel with _rebels._ ”**

It was instantaneous.

One second, Sajuuk was dozens of feet away.

The next, he had glowed a crackling blue and was standing right in front of Legend, two of his arms embedded into the man, his claws sticking out of Legend’s back.

Just before he split him open.

Eidolon turned, but he lacked the reaction time to counter whatever Sajuuk did with his other two arms, the wave of purple-blue crackling light rushing forth, engulfing Eidolon and flinging him into the sky with cascading waves of pulsing blue-purple.

Alexandria _bolted_ , her reaction times allowing her to see Legend shift partly into his Breaker state, blue-white light lining the wounds as he stumbled/flew backwards, as she rushed headlong into Sajuuk.

It was this same reaction speed that allowed her to spot the _blood_ and _meat_ on Sajuuk’s claws.

**“But I’ve never been one to _meddle_ with _Devils!”_**

Another flash and crackle of light, and Sajuuk was gone, having raced further down Tāwhirimātea’s spine, into the rushing mass of floaters and towering spawners.

They opened fire, beams of golden light and blasts and bolts of firepower racing through the rapidly chilling air from their arms, while others hovered forward, extending their arms outward as if to strike at her.

Alexandria _plowed_ through them, the blasts destroying her clothes as easy as fire to paper, but her skin was unharmed.

Just as Sajuuk did with Legend, she tore through his forces, ripping limbs with ease and cracking open glowing chests as she blew through the masses.

The sounds and bursts of electric pain echoed over the sounds of weapon fire as Alexandria raced after Sajuuk. She knew that her companions would recover, that they would rejoin her in the figh-

Screaming over her radio nearly deafened her, calls of help and requests for orders overlapped one another as the fleet was attacked. Several ships were overrun near instantly

Shots poured from most of the fleet in every direction, the defenders struggling to both help besieged ships and hold back assaults on their own vessels.

Large flyers suddenly descend from the clouds, crashing into ships, using their sheer mass to crush people under them.

Large wings, larger than _busses_ , propelled them unflappingly through the air, a pair of smaller arms the size of cars extended down from a lower torso, with mechanical bits attached to its flesh-like skin. An armless body extended from the main torso, a large horned head twisting around as it searched for prey.

The wings turned into arms as they clambered over the decks, smaller limbs grasping at the crew, crushing or flinging them off the ships, while the ones that still flew stopped and hovered, blasting at ships by pointing their wings at them, beams of energy launching forth to rake across the vessels.

The smaller of the forces flew upwards in bursts of energy, descending upon ships en masse, like locusts upon a field. They were small enough to travel through the ships’ many doors and hatches, and Alexandria could see flashes of weapons fire echoing in windows and firing ports, no doubt slaughtering those inside.

Eidolon and Legend were fighting in the sky, Eidolon using whatever his orbs did to blast apart clusters of Sajuuk’s forces, while Legend was filling the skies with lasers that twisted and stuck at dozens at once.

But despite that, they were being _overrun._

Each blast seemed less effective, and for every foe that Legend stuck, the very next seemed to push closer, unaffected by his power.

Eidolon was having better luck, as whatever the powers he was using at the time seemed too much for the advancing forces, most of them getting blown apart as soon as they were hit.

“… Everyone! _Fall back!_ ” Alexandria commanded over her radio, breath coming out in stream from the dropping temps. “ _Disengage!_ Get back through the Eye Wall!”

A rush of air and water, then a voice was in her ear.

**“… Were it so _easy_.”**

She swung, and missed Sajuuk as he rushed away, his voice calling out to her in a Doppler effect.

**“You are the one that wanted this _Rebecca!_ This is _your_ mistake, and you will pay for it!!”**

A shockwave rattled the air, Eidolon having shifted powers into some more area of effect, by all that did was cause the attackers to abandon him as a target.

_“Alexandria! I can’t get a Door open!”_

Alexandria startled midflight, smacking back a melee orientated fighter as it closed in on her.

“Door! … _Door!_ ”

Nothing happened at her words, and her mind whirred. Were they being blocked? Was the Doormaker not opening portals? Several thoughts ran through her head in her pause, before she launched her way into the air, calling out on the radio.

“Eidolon, Legend! Get the fleet out of here!”

_“ -ere yo- -torm is-“_

“Legend!?! Legend!”

_“-ain!”_

“Legend?”

Alexandria’s helmet crumbled under her touch, the metal falling apart when she pressed her fingers into it.

Grasping onto her crumbling helmet as it fell apart, Alexandria noted the way the metal bubbled and boiled and _melted away_ under the rain, the remnants of her suit doing the same.

Lightning booms and the distant cracks of powers in use echoed over the raging winds, the fleet now caught up in the swirling storm.

Many ships were dragged within the winds, their thrusters long ago having failed, all but tumbling in the sky as they were dragged along.

Alexandria could still see a number of the larger ships trying to remain upright however, a few being protected by shields and arrays of lasers…

The others were either being overrun, or were being swept away in the raging storm.

For several seconds, Alexandria watched the world fall apart around her, the broken fleet struggling to remain airborne…

Before she spun around and bolted back towards Tāwhirimātea.

Back towards _Sajuuk._

Several floaters got in her way, one managing to deflect her path by spinning rapidly enough that it managed to knock her aside for a moment, but most she simply _plowed_ through.

Limbs and parts were left in her wake as she flew, uncaring of what stood in her way.

She hit Sajuuk like a _freight train_ , lifting him off the ground before pressing him into Tāwhirimāteas surface-

_And dragged him along it for dozens of feet._

Upon stopping, Alexandria demanded, “Call them off! Call them off or I’ll _rip you apart and **piss** on your remains!!”_

Sajuuk shuddered underneath her, one arm missing while another was twisted in a way that looked painful.

**“ _Now_ do you see the powers you face? And we lack our full streng-”**

Alexandria _slammed_ Sajuuk into the surface of Tāwhirimātea, even as several of his forces closed in on her, firing their weapons to no effect.

_“CALL THEM OFF!”_

Sajuuk just groaned, then huffed.

**“… I take _no pleasure_ in this!”** he declares. **“For it will take us _years_ to replenish the numbers we lose here, crippled from exposure as we are! Years _we do not have!_ And our foe _knows_ this! And they will be _emboldened!_ Striking against our scouts and miners! Against those we have marked as our own! Our only hope will be within the Pseudobroberyl! And I _refuse_ to let my people become slaves to false g-“**

Alexandria slammed Sajuuk into Tāwhirimātea’s surface, rattling his frame.

“I don’t give _a_ **_shit_** about your-“

Over the sounds of the winds, a humming built up, and a glow flared up from Tāwhirimātea. A roaring purple fire had engulfed one the orbs, seemingly struggling to free itself.

It crackled and rippled, before compressing in and launching itself into the sky. The orb flew through the raging storm, altering its path to cause several of the shield ships to pass through it.

The ships vanished for moments, hidden within the glowing cloud, before emerging out the other side, the orb continuing on, altering its course to pass over several other ships.

Suddenly the green glow of the fleet faded, the hulls of the ships beginning to break apart in floating motes, vanishing into the dark sky.

Alexandria didn’t realize it was _her_ screaming until _after_ Sajuuk slipped through her weakened grasp.

Once more she plowed into him, cracking his chest open with her bare hands to reach for what she guessed was his hear-

And was suddenly launched dozens of feet into the air.

For a moment, she was confused, wondering what had just happened…

Then she was slammed into the surface of Tāwhirimātea, and pinned in place by a crackling blue field that pulsed over and over to keep her _down_.

**“You think that because of what I am that I _can not Trigger?!_ That I can not gain unholy power like yourself?!?”**

**“No!”** Sajuuk declared, _forcing_ one of his arms back into place, as another _cackled_ with power as it pointed at her. **“I was _cursed_! Just like you are! Leveraged into being there for my people! Yet unable to stand beside them as I once did! To weather winds and rains and _fire!_ I gained _power_! But I lost something in exchange for it!”**

All around them the storm **_raged_** , wiping away any traces of the fleet with howling winds and acid rains.

Yet Alexandria was untouched by it all, only the creeping cold really affecting her, trying to steal her breath from her lungs with the help of the wind.

**“While the others, my _family,_ hid, safe inside their chrysalises, _I_ stood alone, the _ever watching_ _sentinel_ , to wake them from their slumber whence the time was _right._ ” **

Long white tendrils with glowing blue highlights grasped around Alexandria, pinning her in place.

She tried to free herself when the blue field faded, but only managed to struggle enough to make something shatter nearby and cause a groan of electric pain, the grip then tightening until it was something resembling painful, even to her.

**“And I _burned_ under the blinding unlight,” **Sajuuk continued, stepping fearlessly up to her. **“As the corrupting unmists and waves of intangible waters washed over my shell. These scars will never heal, both those on my surface, as well as the ones within my mind.”**

**“But yet I, _survived!_** **_Endured_ ** **_!_ ** **”**

Lightning flashed, revealing the _scores_ of units standing ready, some marred by damage, others unblemished, glowing in the dark.

And Sajuuk, his arms repaired, if different in shades, his face right in Alexandria’s, _hate_ in his non-existent eyes.

**“So who are _YOU?_ _Alexandria?_ That thinks they, can, _harm, ME?!”_**

Black water flowed over and around Sajuuk, rippling out from under his feet.

It rushed over his body like snakes, shifting around like it was all but ignoring gravity, then it launched at her face, covering her mouth, crawling into her nose and throa-

Then it retreated, flowing backwards to cover Sajuuk like a second skin, leaving Alexandria coughing and struggling to regain her breath.

**“… it seems that this place will not be your grave Rebecca, my Sister says I am to let you live, despite how easy it would be to _drown_ you in the rain.”**

Another figure was behind Sajuuk, different, _larger,_ with a frame that wrapped around them, crab-like arms extending down to the floor.

Then she was moving, Sajuuk taking her somewhere in stops and bursts of his power, the forces around them dispersing into the area to vanish into the storm.

**“Know this Rebecca, we are not like the ones that you have erroneously named, we are _not_ masters of blade and gun, trained and conscripted by the undivine. We are electors of our own _fates_ , masters of our own _destinies_. As such I _refuse_ to let you bastardize us with your silly names!”**

Sajuuk shook his head and scoffed. **“Charger and Paladin, Specter and Phantasm, Skewer and Screamer… it is if you picked the simplest names you could for them, why? To insult them? They are beyond such things.”**

They stopped nearby one of the consumed orbs, black liquid flowing around it in a mesmerizing pattern.

Pillars flowed out from Tāwhirimātea’s surface from the black, curing inward to form an array of dozens of arches, stretching out into a line. They began to crackle with lightning brought down by the storm, sparking between each pillar.

Alexandria was carried to the start of the line where the black fluid rippled over her, and she was released.

But yet somehow still held in place, like a field had engulfed her, tugging at her body via the liquid that rolled over her. No matter how much she tried to rip it away from her, it simply flowed back, keeping her in roughly in place.

**“… but unlike them, I will stand up and speak, telling you _who_ _WE_ _are_.”**

Then it was just her and Sajuuk, her captor/transport turning away and flying into the storm.

**“You will know as the _Sentients!”_** declared Sajuuk, spreading his arms wide while the lightning flashed all around, the winds carrying rain sideways, the clouds rolling and shifting.

**“Builders and _destroyers!_ Survivors and _crafters!_ We breathed life into worlds, and then snuffed out others! And by our many hands, we _crushed_ an _empire!_ ” **

There was a hum, a hum that built up and charged, and the hair on the back of Alexandria’s neck stood up.

Sajuuk glanced at the orb, the glow now brighter and having lightning cascade from it to chain along the pillars, before huffing and turning away from her.

**“Now farewell Rebecca, and know that I will not show mercy to you a second time.”**

The humming grew in strength, the lightning increased along the pillars in pulses until it started to strobe-

A flash, a rush of air.

Then nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In Their Undue glory
> 
> You’ll fester with a Fearsome Infection
> 
> Even hearts so Pure, Distorted
> 
> By the Violence behind Good Intentions
> 
> The Gods and Devils have all heard this story
> 
> Of the Ones who will cross the Dimensions
> 
> Through Heavens and Hells, and the worlds of Purgatory
> 
> You’ll Burn with your Unholy Ascension
> 
> Now that the gates of Hell are due to be unlocked
> 
> Your magazines shall be fully loaded, guns cocked
> 
> He told Them They’d be Kings when Hell froze over
> 
> So did anybody notice that the Temp just dropped?
> 
> They are your Nightmares, They are Infernal
> 
> They’ll strike fear in you, 'cuz fear is Universal
> 
> They will be Amalgamations of your Hell's nine circles
> 
> They are your Doom, AND THEY ARE ETNERAL!


	32. System Reroute

_My journey aboard the_ Naglfar _was a lone one. Due to damage along the port nacelle and main fuselage, the Railjack was non-viable for use._

_The vessel was flight-capable, but combat operations were beyond it for a time._

_A long time if the state of the ‘dock’ was any example._

_Not a proper facility, the dock was little more than a hollowed-out section of rock, stands, and supports in place to spread out the weight of the mighty warship as it rested._

_No, not rested, moored. Naval terms apply to space-based vessels due to similarities between them._

_Despite the damage, there was no one working on the Railjack as I walked along the supporting scaffolding, no crews welding new metal into place, no personal moving about in the cavernous space._

_I understood resources were thin, sparse; what there was being rationed, or being used for the necessary work of establishing the manufactories._

_Things like a damaged Railjack set aside for a spare to the spare could wait, the Sol system was lacking in heavy combat that required more than a passing presence._

_A hatch lay open before me, the soft blues and greens of the main hull giving way more steel colors, greys and blacks, with a hint of red along key points._

_There are several decks, I know this from the blueprints that I was… provided. It was the main section I sought, between the engineering sections and the cockpit._

_A voice gives me pause, words booming from throughout the ship._

_“Quill, welcome aboard. I am Cephalon Cy, you will refer to me as such.”_

_“Swazdo-lah Cephalon Cy,” I say in kind, the word rolling off my tongue despite the fact I only knew its meaning and its pronunciation from the visions. “Do you know why I am here?”_

_A screen flashes into existence before me, hovering, near-transparent. An upside-down red pyramid composed of multiple shifting images lies within. It flares in time with the Cephalon’s commanding words as he speaks._

_“Hmm, that is usually your domain of_ knowing _Quill_. _I am but a grounded Command Cephalon, my databases and poetics do not extend into the realm of intrigue.”_

_“It is not intrigue that I seek, Cephalon Cy,” I say as I continue to make my way up the ship._

_The hatch opened up into engineering, a tri-decked area with routes leading to the forge/storage deck and into the area which I sought. Here and there bore signs of battle damage, a scorch mark there, a burn here, a slash through the middle pillar there._

_Several panels had been removed, showcasing the internals of the warship. Parts that would not seem out of place of a ship of the sea, next to pieces that seemed…_ organic, _alongside parts I could not describe if I tried._

_But it was not all damage and repair work. Here and there were other marks, marks of a well-cared for and loved craft._

_A painting on the wall, a hidden slot which held a string instrument, a folded out section that contained padding; the_ Naglfar _might have been born as a warship, but the Tenno crew that once manned her breathed life into her frame, turning into a second home._

_“… I come seeking knowledge, knowledge that you alone in this… system, have.”_

_The upper level has more hidden sections, a table with chairs that pulled from the wall, a screen which still showed a half-finished image upon it, a Komi board, its pieces still waiting to be played._

_The Tenno, masters of blade and gun, relentless unstoppable warriors, who would purge entire facilities and installations of their occupants, steal data from right under its owners’ noses, crush an attacking force within minutes… yet would spend hours assisting locals by fishing for them, would seek out animals to capture and protect them for Conservation, would risk life and limb for those that rejected the dogmas of their overlords._

_Their enemies viewed them with fear and disgust_ _for their actions, but their allies would hold them up as demi-gods._

_Much to the embarrassment of the Tenno if the records are to be believed._

_“I will provide what I can,” states Cephalon Cy. “But some of my data is currently… lacking.”_

_… the door was broken, one of its parts seemingly having been punched inward, warping the whole frame._

_I eyed the spray of dried blood along the floor leading to the door, before moving to the other side of the ship._

_This door was unbroken and opened at my approach. Inside was a large oval room, with two glass windows on either side._

_… wait, one glass window, the other was broken._

_I knew that if I traveled further to the bow, I would find the cockpit, the control center of the craft._

_However, it was the small pedestal in this room I was looking for. It was the main access point for the ship's Datascape, a point that would supply me a way to my secondary goal._

_It was there I went, slinging my pack down to the floor as I went. It contained the tools I would need for the Dive. There were parts that I understood how they functioned due to similarities of my old equipment, but there were other pieces that I only understood_ what _they did, not how. Even then some of it flew so far over my head that I felt like a child._

 _“Ah,” Cephalon Cy intones as I settle myself in place. “I see now why you have come, and_ who you are. _”_

_“Be known, were it not for the will of the Council, my Precepts, and the word of the Quills, I would have vented the hanger and the ship over your actions.”_

_“I understand,” I say, somehow at ease. Perhaps because I_ knew _that today I would not die? His anger is understandable, what I had done would have placed me in crosshairs of many, crosshairs of which there would be no escape from._

_Yet they let me live, renamed me a Quill, gave me no task to follow…_

_Perhaps_ that _was the punishment, to_ See _and_ Understand _, then to strive towards undoing my mistakes. Their goals_ would _be forwarded because of it._

_“And while I do wish to partake in what you have perceived I want,” I continue, living the wonder of my continued existence for another day. “It is for another reason I have come.”_

_The Cephalon is quiet, a pulse here and there on his image._

_“… state your request, but know that I am not an archive. I may not have whatever it is you seek.”_

_I take the chance, as what I have Seen ends here, the next part of my vision lacking context. Context that I require to continue._

_“Tell me about Sajuuk.”_

_Cephalon Cy_ _pauses, his image flaring for a moment, before…_

_“Sajuuk…_ _Sajuuk… Sajuuk…_ Sajuuk… Sajuuk…”

_Cy stutters for a second, the lights aboard the ship flickering before fading. The red of his avatar bleeds away, becoming white. His voice alters, become bland and toneless._

_I ready my equipment, I need to path the engrams and imprints as Cy cycles through his Datascape._

“Fire in Engineering, port weapons turned to slag. Tunguska capacitor power is cycled into shields. A hit. Shields waver, but Krodhi’s work keep them alight. We are running and Sentient fighters are chasing. Others of our wing are unavailable for assistance, we are alone in this fight. But not in the war.”

“Below, the battle of Hull rages on. Transmissions indicate a turning point, Sajuuk has fled the battle, wounded by a Dax, but not beaten. He will return. The cost of blood will be high this day, as well as the next.”

_The lights slowly come back on, turning to full brightness._

_Then, aside from the hum from the deck plating, all is quiet in the ship._

_“… Sajuuk, the General, the leader form the front,” intoned Cy. “He was the first, a symbol of the Sentient adaptation, of them_ learning.”

“ _The outer systems were the first to fall, then the midrim. Orokin weapons and technology was turned against the Empire by the Sentient threat. The Orokin sealed away their most advanced weaponry, for their war-machines were kin to the Sentients, and everything else they would adapt to. From this the Orokin turned to older means, of blade, gun, and flesh.”_

 _“However, the Sentients continued to adapt, going from mindless drones gathering up weapons and gear, intergrading it into themselves, infiltrating into Orokin systems to turn them against their masters, to developing their_ own _weapons, retooling terraforming designs into weapons, countering the defense systems by exploiting weaknesses, learning from each battle. It did not take long for Sajuuk to emerge from the dark.”_

_“He was the first, the Vanguard of the new Sentient wave. What he lacked in subtlety he more than made up in with rage and planning; often worlds would ‘repel’ an assault, only to discover an ambush, Sentient fighters hidden away, waiting for the moment to strike.”_

_“In the beginning, of all the Named, none matched Sajuuk in combat, in both the field and in the greater war, and he never felt shy about boosting about it. His voice would echo across the system, mocking the Orokin and all that stood beside them for their foolishness. As the war dragged on, however, more Named emerged, rose and fell, even as the Tenno rose and fell with them. Sajuuk became nothing more than another voice beside Hunhow, a reminder of how our foe wished for nothing but our destruction.”_

_“A war that was won, in the end,” I added._

_“… So I came to realize, at the cost of much.”_

_I knew chunks of the rest of the story, of how the Tenno pushed back the Sentients, of the aftermath of the war, the slow rebuild, the restoration of parts of the system._

_Of the betrayal of the Tenno against the Orokin, and the final collapse of the Empire._

_“Were you not aware of the events that occurred at Lua?” I ask. “Both of the Sentient assault and the Tenno rebellion?”_

_“No,” Cy drones out. “Those events happened after…”_

_After the Mission._

_Part of the knowledge I was given about Cy was of a disastrous final mission, one that was expunged from the Weave records._

_“When I first re-initialized,” continued Cy. “I knew nothing of how the Old War ended, Cephalon Ordis and Cephalon Simaris were kind enough to supply me with the knowledge I lacked, though with the latter it was more of an exchange.”_

_“I was in shock of what had become of the System, of the Corpus greed, of the Plague that ravaged the outer territories, of the Genemolds that viewed themselves as rightful rulers of the ruins left behind in the Old War. I ignored the rabble however, for the Sentient threat was returning. But as Scarlet Spear came to a close, and the Murex Waves were repulsed, I found myself wondering…”_

_“Where was the Eragn, the Master of Flame? What had happened to Ornehell, the Sunstriker? Where were the Turaga-class Worm Ships? What of Kalit, the Keeper of the Drone Blades? Sajuuk, the First Born? Trigo, the One That Slumbers?”_

_“What had befallen the System? What calamity had happened to stop the endless surge of Sentient armadas? How had the Golden Orokin Empire fallen so? And so, I learned from my fellow Cephalon though the Weave.”_

_“… irrelevant now, the Origin System is lost to us. The untouchable past has no place in the present.”_

_An old piece of history, one that I find myself a part of. Cephalon Cy might not require it, but if I am to undo my mistakes, then I must learn all I can about the hidden world I am now a part of._

_I needed to fully understand everything if I was to-_

_*_

A girl, young, long blonde hair, athletic figure, facial features that made her ‘pretty,’ despite the angry/wild look in her glowing eyes.

She glared at me past her tears, several objects floating around her, screaming, “ _Fuck you!”_

_*_

A phone of unknown make, showing the time: 7:15, 7:16. Water is all around me, pouring from the sky and rushing by down the street. A rumble, a burst of air. I look up to see a wall of water streaking forth towards me, overwhelming the street. Within, a monstrous figure with several green eyes stares back.

“Leviathan spotted,” I say. “CC-7.”

The wave bears down upon me, blotting out the surroundings.

*

“Daniel!” comes the scream. I know what it is about, I’ve seen it before, what will be becoming what was. Still, I walk outside, unconcerned.

Several of those that call themselves ‘my flock’ stare into the sky, enraptured by it. I know what it is, having seen it before, but this would be my first viewing it with my own eyes.

The sky was burning, waves and wisps of blue-white light, flickering with hints of red and green, washed outward from somewhere within the city. A pillar of light rippled its way upward, crackling along into the sky. The source.

“Do not fear,” I say. “It shall pass soon enough.”

“But what the fuck is it?” one asks. “Shouldn’t we be worried about this?!?”

“Why?” I ask. “Aside from one girl in the city, we are the only ones that can see it.”

*

“Quill,” Comes a voice, altered by mechanical means.

“ _Gashadokuro,_ ” I reply. “Swazdo-lah Surah, I hope your trip was uneventful?”

The _Daidarabotchi_ towers over us, its glowing face turned towards the city. On each of its large arms a turret pulses, waves of gravity projecting from them, lifting up wrecks and parts of buildings from around the Docks, to be dropped off near where they were getting broken down, some being set aside for Gasha.

The walker was a new model, one that had more firepower, but was slower. As of now Gasha had not named it and was taking requests from Brockton Bay.

Some were working quite hard in naming it Stompy McStomp Face.

Many people were concerned with having the great machine there, the sheer size of it dwarfing everything within the city. Despite the fact the gang war was near-instantly silenced by his arrival, or perhaps because of it, there was a strong presence of capes and cops near the Docks, watching as the workers there hook up the utilities for the city into the machine.

There was no need for them to be here, outside to comfort themselves. I doubted that much would happen, after all, no one wanted to fight the man that defeated the Ash Beast in combat.

The Triskelion was somewhere else, Gasha not saying where, while Cacus was apparently still at the bottom of the ocean, most of its parts given to the as of yet unnamed walker.

Gasha steps up beside me, each step echoing due to his heavy power armor, the hiss of hydraulics softer than one would expect for his size.

He towers over me, not quite as much as his several stories tall walker, but enough that I must crane my neck to see up to his faceplate.

“I have questions for you Quill, the most important is thus: why have you not told the girl what she is?”

*

“Not all of us are blessed with the _Sight_ Quill.”

Kuzunoha is displeased, that much is obvious. The fact she chased me down to Grand Forks made that clear.

She never changed people, not unless she had plans to kill them. They were always brought to _her_.

That made me wonder if there were times that Alexandria was forced to meet Kuzunoha on her terms?

“No,” I reply. “You do not. A good thing as well, however. If everyone could see what we could, then death would be preferable.”

“I doubt that.”

I laugh, a sad laugh, tinged with misery.

“That is because you do not See, I can.”

It pops up in my Minds Eye: a girl, lashing out at those that would be her allies. A land, torn asunder by hubris and desperate actions of those that wish to save it. A world, broken under the heel of the ones that press down with glee.

“… it is not for those that can not stomach the evil that must be done for the world to continue spinning.”

Kuzunoha says nothing, one hand tapping on the device that renders her invisible. Strange that she would find me, even stranger that she knew where to look.

Unless…

“… why are you here?”

I look away and down the street, eyes finding the one I followed.

“Because he has yet to realize his place, to accept that we are never the protagonists of the story.”

There Armsmaster speaks with another Quill, one that he shares a history with, through if she speaks of it nothing will change. This will be their last meeting; no other threads of their time would cross.

Further down the street, a woman in a black dress plays the violin, eyes closed, swaying to the music. Her white hair was a sharp contrast to her dress, helping her stand out even more with the crowd around her.

Fingers lined with cybernetic enhancements far behind what the world could provide dance along the strings, the wonder of _control_ not yet having faded despite the years.

In the back of the crowd, a masked man stands, watching the woman play. The uniform marks him as aligned with the Protectorate, but only just.

Him and his wife not wanting anything major to do with the organization since the woman’s disappearance years before was the cause of their distance.

Another meeting of threads, this one bittersweet in ways. It will bring closure to them all.

_*_

_“Quill? Are you operational?”_

_There was no control over what I_ Saw _, nor of when it occurred. It would just happen whenever it felt right._

_“… I am fine… how long?”_

_“Three-point seven seconds. Scans indicated near-total loss of higher brain activity while a massive influx of Void energies poured through your form. One of this ships Aetheric Condensers have failed to that that stunt, don’t let it happen again.”_

_“If I had control of it, then I would control them!” I snap, reaching for my pad. I needed to write down everything, already I could see things slipping away the threads twisting in the wind._

_Frenzied, my fingers move, jotting down what I could recall as best as I could. I didn’t know a single person there._ Gashadokuro? _I knew that name, but it was passing knowledge, same for Kuzunoha._

_I could see the future unfold, see the threads tangle and drift, but only just. It was depressing, demoralizing._

_“… Perhaps I can help. Follow.”_

_Lights flicker on the floor. A path forms, leading back through the door and into the core of the ship._

_I pause, before gathering up my equipment._

_The rest of the ship dims, the guiding lights casting all in shadow. Battle damage shifts into a harsher tone, the strewn about objects adding to the sudden ominous environment._

_“I, am a Command Cephalon, purpose build for Railjack operation. I alone contain the necessary tactical parameters, the necessary astrogation_ _poetics, the warfighting database. Before, there were others that could have learned, given time and purpose alteration to their intrinsical engrams, time we did not have.”_

_“Now, however, there is no need for a Command Cephalon, our numbers too few, the battle fought requiring… more subtle methods than I can provide. I now serve as a guide, an adviser, to those that seek it at least. This is for this reason that I will help you, for you are a new type of boarding crew. You may occupy the Lighthouse, but I shall show you the spark.”_

_The path took me into the back of the ship, into a section restricted from the plans I had obtained. A room, crescent shaped, and in the back lies a large container, half-glass, filled with swirling blue/black colors and the impression of stellar phenomenon. Faded dull ice links from the back of the container and into the deck of the ship._

_I find myself drawn to it, the mists rushing and flowing chaotically… but there is a path, a pattern in the madness._

_“Behold, an absence. Describe it.”_

_Something moves behind the mist. An echo of something beyond comprehension._

_“Image a color you have never seen. That is where you are. This, is what you must_ See. _”_

_From within, something taps the glass._

_The ship shakes._

_And I hear laugher._

* * *

Record of investigation: Cephalon Cy, Command Cephalon of Railjack Armada. Quill Daniel Bobrow Tertiary presiding.

Advancement to Secondary has been established, as preordained.

Release from main Confluence confirmed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Something that I hammered out really quick over the last two days on a whim. I’m going to come back to it later, but it gets the point across.
> 
> Will cover some SB comments later, but for now, tools down, work is finished.
> 
> Edit: damn, I got so caught up in making this work I actually forgot the whole reason why I wanted to make it in the first place, Warframe history. Well that’s what I get for not paying attention to my notes.
> 
> Fixed now, added a bit more about Sajuuk and why he is important.


	33. 3.11 Firewalker

_Shuffle_ _shuffle_ _sniff_

Alexandria  awoke  to reflex and a press of something against her neck.

Then a  yip and a meaty  _ crunch _ .

Her power made her near-indestructible, but Alexandria still needed to do everything that a normal human needed to do: eat, sleep, shit, etc., so she _understood_ waking up.

But it had been a long time since she’d not _remembered_ falling asleep.

Despite that , it took just a second to recall  _ everything, _ and then she was up and flying and casting her gaze around.

It was a forest she found herself in, a trail of broken dirt and giant red trees outlining where she had fallen from. 

The sun peeking through the clouds and  canopy warmed her skin, the faint breeze tickling her , reminding her that she was naked.

But  otherwise untouched , a quick check confirmed that .

It also revealed the blood on her  hand .

For several moments, Alexandria could only stare, du mbfounded. Then she glanced to the ground, to where she had been laying.

A broken body greeted her, blond fur matted with blood, spine and skull crushed, twisted, by the impact. There was a glint in the sunlight, reflecting off a blood-covered jeweled collar, a name, half-covered in red.

Alexandria stared,  eyes drawn in by the juxtaposition of the body  and the forest around them. How the red of the blood contrasted with the green, the white of bone  with the brown  of the  dirt.

“Maddy! Where did you go, girl?” 

The hero jerked at the voice in the distance -

-then she was gone, high in the air,  overlooking the forest , leaving the ground far behind in mere moments.

Alexandria had a rough idea of where she was, something that was quickly  turned into certainty as she flew, spotting a lake to orient herself.  Then she picked her direction and was off like a shot, leaving the  forest behind in a flash.

There was a muffled boom in the air, one that drew the attention of those in the park below,  but nothing would ever come of it , and no one would  ever learn that she was there.

* * *

Traveling via flight was simple, due to her speed and knowledge of geography she could determine where she was and figure out where she needed to go within a minute. This was only marred by how it was often hard to make out the smaller landmarks when at speed, even with her skills.

Her photographic memory played a heavy part in this, having learned all major roads, major  cities and their neighbors, coupled then with a half-second’s pause to read signs while keeping an eye out for major landmarks .

Provided that they still existed, of course.

It wasn’t _dirt_ under her feet: the texture was too rough for that, too _jagged._ She was reminded of Lunar regolith that Sphere had sent back once, rocks unmarred by weather effects like wind and rain.

The material had been _fused_ and _warped,_ hammered and twisted into shape by impossible means.

What was once fertile land turned into an unforgiving wasteland of grey and black rocks , unbroken by anything .

And Alexandria  stood upon a sea of it, stretching out to the horizon in every direction. 

_ ‘There should have been a town here,’ _ Alexandria reflected.  _ ‘ _ _ A place that people called home.’ _

Over the years Alexandria had become proficient  in  reading the land f r om the air; having photographic memory and  being able to calculate speed and distance in her head helped.

So she  _ knew _ that th is area should have been a town, surrounded  by miles of farms.

Yet it was anything but the case.

“Alexandria.”

The hero twisted her head. Legend was there, floating, a Door in place behind him, one looking like it led straight to an office, one she didn’t recognize.

It shut  as Legend  moved close-

No, not Legend,  _ Nathan. _

Legend  wore a skintight costume, blue  and white. Nathan wore  shorts and a shirt, several bandages peeking  out f ro m under his clothes.

“… We couldn’t find you. Some thought…”

Nathan  didn’t finish.

The pair stood alone , in  a sea of broken stone.

“… What happened, Nathan?” Alexandria asked. “Where is… where is the fleet, the capes? Did you and Eidolon save them?”

Nathan  didn’t meet her eyes

* * *

_ “-over several hundred miles!” _

_ “By far the worst disaster in American history! Not even the End _ _ -“ _

_ “-looking at further food shortages, disruption of supply lines _ _ -“ _

_ “-Ecological devastation on par with Behemoth! Only this isn’t something that just can  _ _ be cleaned up!” _

_ “-Have evacuated! _ _ The dang _ _ er _ _ of the storm is w _ _ e _ _ ll recor _ _ de _ _ d!” _

_ “If people won’t even leave their homes  _ _ when  _ _ a h _ _ urri _ _ cane is bearing down on them, what makes you believe that  _ _ they’ll do so  _ _ for this _ _?” _

_ “ _ _ I _ _ f you decided to stay in a flash flood zone when a 100-year storm equivalent comes rolling in, the consequences are on you _ _ , same goes for this situation. _ _ We understand the devastation  _ _ that comes f _ _ r _ _ om this! The fact that people refuse to  _ _ understand the truth  _ _ is _ _ due  _ _ it _ _ their own  _ _ stupidity _ _!” _

_ “The storm has never been this bad before!  _ _ Destruction is normally limited to  _ _ structural issues _ _! All repairable in the end! How could anyone had known what was going to happen!? _ _ ” _

_“-even mentioning the_ _amount_ _of lives lost! How many people were on the fleet again? How many heroes_ _were lost_ _?!”_

_ “-dissipated  _ _ before it could reach  _ _ deep into New Mexico,  _ _ and missed Colorado Springs, but that s _ _ till doesn’t change the fact that six states have been  _ _ a _ _ ffected by this!” _

_“_ _The_ _y're_ _not actually rocks, but some form of_ _crystals born from the acid rains_ _, the freezing cold_ _,_ _and_ _raging winds. As the acid broke down the dirt, and everything else, it lost its_ _po_ _t_ _e_ _n_ _cy_ _, while the cold and winds gathered up the remains and fused them together_ _via pressure_ _and temperature_ _.”_

_“_ _How is the Protectorate_ _gonna_ _protect us now?_ _They wasted my_ _hard-earned_ _tax money for this!? I_ _ain’t_ _paying for_ _damages!”_

 _“-_ _So_ _give! Give onto our great Lords! Show them that we had heard their_ _message!-_ _“_

_ “- _ _ ago, a great, unthinkable tragedy occurred.  _ _ We have grown  _ _ used to the Endbringers, and  _ _ many _ _ of us ha _ _ ve _ _ truly _ _ forgotten  _ _ the damage they can bring, the scale of it _ _. _ _ ” _

_“-last seen within the stor_ _m._ _O_ _nce that_ _dissipated_ _,_ _however_ _,_ _it was discovered that_ _Tāwhirimātea_ _had_ _vanished_ _. And now the world waits with_ _bated_ _breath,_ _will the Endbringer_ _reveal_ _itself somewhere else? Or has it truly gone?”_

_ “ _ _ -the real _ _ question on  _ _ everyone’s _ _ lips is, what the hell happened up there?” _

* * *

Rebecca  rarely spent any meaningful time at her apartment, there was too much  to do with Cauldron , the PRT, and the Protectorate . Mostly she tended to use it for sleeping,  maybe for one of her mandated days off (Doctor Mother was firm on having at least a few of those , lest they start to burn out).

So when Rebecca stepped inside, it was to a dark and chilled room , lacking pictures on the walls, and any furniture  aside from  a couch and  a tv table.

A couch that creaked ominously when she all but slammed into it.

Over _four_ _hundred miles_ in length, nearly _two hundred_ at the widest: that was the scale of destruction left behind by Tāwhirimātea, an area visible from _space_ , scoured until nothing remained.

There were _thousands_ of dead, _tens_ of thousands; the numbers were still being added up. It was the worst event in the history of the United States, bar none. Not even the attacks from Behemoth were this devastating. 

And it  wasn’t even because of the people, but the damage to the  agricultura l sector . A truly  _ massive _ area had been affected by  Tāwhirimātea ’ s storm,  not just from the storm itself, but from the  damaged water table, the runoff that even now was still killing  the land downstream.

It was all too much. Why?  Rebecca  didn’t know, she had faced  wors e things,  _ done _ them.

Why was _this_ causing her to curl into a ball on her couch, crying like a little girl?

‘You  _ know _ why,’ she told herself. 

‘It’s because  you never really realized the scale of what you are doing.’

* * *

“We need to adjust our plans.”

All of Cauldron ' s leadership was present, each weary in their own ways.

Both  Eidolon  and Legend were recovering, now fully healed but lacking in spirit. Doctor Mother was unke m pt, the Number Man ’ s suit was in disarray, even  Contessa  wasn’t as stiff as she normally was.

“We can’t continue like this,” continued Alexandria. “Not after what we’ve seen.”

“What do you suggest?” asked Doctor Mother. “More capes? More testing into  Eden? ”

“We should bring in more people.”

_ That _ got everyone’s attention.

“… pardon?”

“The events with Tāwhirimātea have changed the board,” continued Alexandria. “We cannot longer solely rely on the people in this room to handle things.”

“And what does that mean , Alexandria?” asks Doctor Mother. “More scientists and  researchers? We already are finding the best qualify-”

“No, I mean more people  in general,” Alexandria interrupted. “More  agents, more Tinkers and Thinkers to work the vials, more people on the watch for  events that need controlling before they blow out of hand. More people that know about Eden and  Scion , about the  _ End _ .”

“… are we sure that this is wise?” asks the Number Man. “The more people we bring  on board greatly increases the chances of our work getting undone, from several vectors.”

“I also want a plan in place to fight Scion within the next decade. ”

After several seconds, the room explodes with the sounds of several voices speaking at once.

* * *

Things should have been so simple, they had the plan, the backing,  the ideas , the tools, the capes … 

It all seemed so _simple_ _;_ Contessa could somewhat path Tāwhirimātea, they had a weapon that would make Endbringer shy away from their fights, they even had the support of capes and people willing to die for a chance to kill an Endbringer.

Many of them  understood that th ere was a good chance that they  wouldn’t be walking away from the fight,  even if everything had gone perfectly Tāwhirimātea had shown she wasn’t a pushover ; several of the ships would have fallen  under the beating of the storm, to say nothing of the  attacks Tāwhirimātea put out.

But to face a _total_ _lo_ _ss_ _,_ to have near _everyone_ on the assault teams die, lost within the storm to the one that there wasn’t a single body remaining, even among the Brute-style capes, that was…

They had  _ plans _ , to use this victory to propel  new programs and systems into place,  to move things along without having to resort to using Cauldron ' s shadowy reach to do it.

Except it  wasn’t a  victory, they gained nothing aside from disturbing  the status quo of the Endbringers.

‘ B ut haven’t they be e n breaking the status quo already?  By t hem simply existing?’ she asked herself. ‘Someone had to take action, why shouldn’t it have been you?’

* * *

“A million.”

At her words, the room went quiet , her tone brooking no argument . 

Alexandria cast her gaze across each person there.

“A million people, ran domly chosen but geared towards surviving the worst case . A million to pick up the pieces  after the final fight a decade from now ,  anyone else is a bonus.”

“And I am  _ not _ counting ourselves in that number.”

“… you can’t be serious , ” Legend spoke the words tha t everyone had on their mind.

“ _ One million? _ Of the several  _ billion _ on Earth B -“

“We are being _sandbagged,_ ” snapped Alexandria. “Tāwhirimātea showed that quite handily. What are our chances if we can’t even defeat _one_ Endbringer? If everything we’ve seen so far was just a sample, a _glimpse_ into what they really can do? Furthermore, if they _are_ sandbagging _us,_ what does that mean for Scion? Is he even _using_ his powers? Or is he just brushing dust off his desk?”

“ But Tāwhirimātea might not be an Endbringer,” pointed out the Number Man. “Given  your reports, as well as what evidence we’ve been able to get ourselves…”

“Does that matter right now? _Really?_ _”_ Alexandria interrupted. “While that does bear looking into and is something that we _will_ have to look into, Tāwhiri has vanished for now. So, we need to adjust things, because, despite everything that has happened, our end-goal remains the same. To _k_ _ill_ **_Scion_**.”

“A goal I am now having a hard time believing we can accomplish.”

* * *

There were many things Rebecca wasn’t proud of doing: never seeing her family after she was healed, shifting things around to get people sent to the Birdcage, or using Contessa and Cauldron to arrange things in her favor, be it a troublesome section of the PRT, or a win for the Protectorate. 

It gnawed at her, the secrets she often kept for the sake of keeping the peace, of all the decisions _she_ had to make with both of her identities.

Of having to choose who lives and dies.

She made that choice with Hero, before, when he died. But there were others, _hundreds,_ _thousands_ , all remembered so easily with her power.

She  _ chose _ to be the Chief Director because she  needed to be ready to adjust her plan for Parahumans and the PRT . 

It had been a hard first few years, with her leaning upon the Number Man and Contessa when things began to spiral; all of her research and planning doing little to prepare her for the real world and all of its exceptions and nuances.

But they managed, even if there were bumps along the way.

The delay in the Wards program,  brought up  by the final rush in getting the PRT and Protectorate up and running. The lack of a system in place for those parahumans not  aligned with either heroes or villains. Not having a plan in place for events outside  the US and not even an idea on how to work with outside agencies.

They were all things they hoped to  fix over time , but the world of capes never gave them a break.

Taking out an Endbringer should have been a step in the direction of solving those issues, of undoing the damage of years past. Instead, the world was in an uproar, the debate of their actions and the actions of Tāwhirimātea was reaching feverish levels, as everyone and their parents and children voiced their opinion on the matter.

Tāwhirimātea should have been the _safe_ choice. Lethargic, at least when compared to the other Endbringers, still capable of destruction, yet held back enough to allow them a good chance at taking it out.

The politicians and public could debate all that they wanted, hitting Tāwhirimātea was the best bet to get results.

‘She was a convenient target, you mean,’ Rebecca corrected herself. ‘A stepping stone onto bigger things, just like you told Sajuuk. Only they weren’t willing to be stepped on so you could get a shot at glory.’

* * *

“… perhaps the re c ent events have affected you more than you realize,” states Doctor Mother. “Maybe you should take some time  to rest an -“

_ “N _ _ O _ _!” _

Everyone in the room jumped when Alexandria put her hand straight through the table.

“ No!” she demand s at the shocked Doctor Mother.

“We’ve listened to you before, about the Nine, about the Elite, about Gesellschaft, and letting the South American governments come to _us_ for help. To let them realize that they _needed_ the PRT and the Protectorate. Look how all of that ended up! Look on how everything ended up by us using a gentle hand and trying to rely on the good that _should_ be inherent in humankind.”

“Gesellschaft are kidnapping capes with better success than the Fallen. Russia is in the middle of a cape civil war with the Tinker group, Zolotyye Lineyki, who are _winning,_ despite outside help, _our_ help. The Sentinel project is now doomed to failure, which means that it will now entirely fall upon the Protectorate and the Guild to defend borders and take a stand against international threats, if only symbolically. Our plan to jumpstart an UN-controlled counter-cape force has failed, to say nothing of the loss of morale because of what happened.”

“There is still a chance that the other seeds in place will continue the project,” interjects Doctor Mother. “We have Masamune, Toybox is still willing to cooperate, as is Doctor Gramme. Contessa also has secured Granholme, Stinger, and Chopshop in preparation for Sentinel. We can still establish the foundation of the project, even if it will lack the grand scope that we planned for.”

Alexandria scoffs. “Without heavy political backing? Russia is all but ready to return to Communism and isolationism. The EU is split in two due to cape activity in Germany, with German succession from their Union all but around the corner. The British Isles are considering withdrawing from international affairs by order of the new Prime Minister, Adam Sutler, after Leviathan destroyed London and killed the Royal Family. Israel has finished taking over Jordan and the surrounding countries. India has all but fallen to the CUI in the underground scene, even as rebellion has started to take hold in their homeland. The USA is one of the few First World countries that still retains much of its values from the times before capes, and even then, there have been changes!”

Placing her head in her hands, Alexandria continued. “The Protectorate is not and never was _built_ to be an international task force. The PRT is at best classified as a domestic security agency akin to a police force, one that _legally_ can’t interfere with global politics. The Guild is the closest thing the USA _has_ to a foreign cape service and they are a volunteer/recruitment group based more with the _Canadian_ _government_ more than the US. Defeating Tāwhirimātea should have gained us prestige and political power that we could have used to jumpstart projects all over the world, putting a slow to the uptick in villainous capes and their actions, counterbalancing the _years_ of damages done by the Endbringers and unchecked cape activity, _giving people hope._ All done through entirely legal means so that we could _fucking stop_ having to smack the hands of the world away from the fire and keep them from sticking their tongues into an electrical socket!”

“… Instead, we got our teeth kicked down our throats and were gutted from hip to neck by something we knew nothing about.”

* * *

Costumes were made for a reason; they turned people into ideals. Rebecca’s was no exception.

Some costumes, like Legend ’ s, were made to be flashy, to inspire hope , and give a more positive image.

Not hers.

The dark colors, the helm and cape, it all combined together to create an image of power and protection. To inspire fear in her foes and place her on a pedestal for everyone else, of being the biggest and toughest around. It spoke of an idea, facts, _knowledge_.

She was an  _ icon  _ with her costume , the one that  everyone feared and respected. If it was  _ Alexandria  _ that came after you, you  _ knew _ that you were done for.

Legend wasn’t the assaulting type, Eidolon was overkill for most cases, as he spent most of his time dealing with things as they happened rather than given the task of dealing with a problem. While the others of the Silver Seven… each of them had limits, obligations. 

So, it fell on Alexandria to be the long hammer of the Protectorate, striking at the issues that bubbled up past their point of being a mere nuisance.

All the while Rebecca also needed to manage  the PRT ,  deal with meetings  with the organization and with Cauldron , work with the various governments of the world about capes, respond to the requests of the US government , work with the various  _ cape _ organizations of the world,  etc , etc.

Also while leading a triple life of being Alexandria and working alongside Cauldron to prevent the world from collapsing around them.

It was a balancing act, deciding which of her three parts  should react to any given situation.

Alexandria the Parahuman could take on nearly anything, her power set allowing her to always come out on top, even if it meant having to just rip someone in half to stop them from becoming another member of the Slaughterhouse Nine. 

Rebecca as the PRT Chief Director  had to decide  how everything should be played out with the public , to deal with  policies  and governments .  The dance the tune of debates and office workers,  of entitled old men, disconnected officials, and  the naive public.

And finally, there was the Cauldron side of her, the side that had to  weigh in on letting  threats and people continue on because they might be the final  edge they needed to  win the fight against Scion, or if removing them wo uld bring someone  _ worse _ into the spotlight.

More than once Rebecca had wanted more than _anything_ than to just put her fist into some ‘government officials’ head, screaming all the while over their _sheer_ _stupidity_ and failure to understand what really was happening in the streets. It was in those times that she wished that Megan Nagel was still her PR department head; despite the friction between them over many things, the woman was always willing to get into a friendly debate or give a helpful ear for venting.

On the Cauldron side of things, there were also times when an event or situation would crop up, where she would have to make an arbitrary decision on a person’s, town’s, or area’s wellbeing. Having to make these choices never sat well with her, but _not_ making them was always the worse choice.

Compared to her other two lives, being the PRT Chief Director was easy. Half of her decisions involved reorganization and delegating the Directors, the Regional Coordinators, managing capes, approving projects, the typical paperwork that every organization has. The rest dealt with politics and dealing with the _big_ disasters that needed more than the local city could handle.

At times Rebecca felt like  she  wasn’t wearing several hats, but swapping  _ masks _ , replacing one mask for another as the day demanded .  It made her uniquely suited for her jobs, able to keep an eye on all levels, big and small, and understand the  intricacies of the world without losing sight  of the end goals .

Yet there were times when she wondered if she would slip up, if one of her masks would fail to sit right and result in the whole charade  falling down around her.

‘A mask just adds a face atop your own,’ she told herself. ‘The thing about masks is that they are built to cover something up. But you have to remember what's underneath, lest you forget who’s there.’

* * *

“… my goal is to open up more  perspectives,” continued  Alexandria, lift ing back up her head. “Cauldrons ' main leadership and  direction will still lie in  _ our _ hands, but we  _ need _ more people out there , working in the light of day. Even if they know about us, even if they know about the  _ End _ _ , _ that doesn’t change the facts.”

“The world is  too big for us to save alone.”

Alexandria made sure to pin her eyes on Eidolon, to impart the unspoken, and harsh, truth.

_ You  _ _ aren’t _ _ strong enough. _

They had heaped many things on Eidolon, on _themselves_ _,_ yet they were rapidly getting to the point that they were simply putting out the fires, rather than being proactive.

Ma ybe it was time for something  _ different. _

“What _exactly_ are you proposing, Alexandria?” asked Doctor Mother. “So far, we’ve heard thoughts and concepts, but no solid _plan_. Are you suggesting more general recruitment? More Cauldron control via favors and control? To delay the decay of the world by better shifting it? To take an _actual_ hand in the politics of the world? We chose not to do that long ago, for several reasons.” 

“The opposite actually,” Alexandria supplied. “It’s too late for us to stop everything that is happening, and all the data tells us that it will only get worse. _No,_ I’m suggesting that we stop performing _nudges,_ and instead start leveraging the devils we know into our service. We can’t keep putting heroes into place as a stopgap, moving and removing people that would cause the next world war with their actions; with how things are going, at some point, the villains will be the ones with power, so we need to get some of them on our side, on _Cauldron_ _’_ _s_ side, even if that means telling them the truth.”

“Are you listening to yourself right now, Alexandria?” demanded Eidolon. “You _want_ to tell people about Scion? About _the Agents?_ And tell the worst kinds of people about it as well? _”_

“ Yes _ , I am, _ I  _ understand _ what I am saying  and why we don’t want to and never did this, and it grates  on me because of it , ” stated Alexandria, somehow  keeping a hold on her  _ anger _ and  _ frustration _ despite the pounding that was going on in her in  her  head. 

“Because I _hate_ this. Before my powers I was _dying,_ my own cells turned against me, surrounded by people that would _lie to m_ _y_ _face_ , just to make themselves feel better. So what I’m doing now makes me a hypocrite, even if I _know_ that the world won’t understand or even be able to cope with the fact that powers are a single piece of a whole, a network of an unfathomable alien system, built for the sole purpose of testing these powers, seeing how they interact, what they can be used for, like we’re all nothing more than a _fucking_ petri dish to some scientist. And when the tests are done, are to be _sterilized_ and _eliminated_ before moving on to the next group of subjects.”

“I hate  _ lying _ about this, about the fact that we are facing a power  all but beyond our comprehension, the setting up of false promises, of hiding  within the shadows so the world doesn’t see what is happening yet smiling about it all , just like  my family, just like the doctors that kept telling  me that everything was going to be all right, that  I’ll get better with time.”

The room was quiet,  solemn .  It  didn’t take a genius to figure out the basics of where  the situation that one would get offered a vial in the early days ,  after all, they  _ were _ among the first experiments.

To  talk or  ask about it was taboo , however; each of them carried their own burdens, their own secrets.

“We all know the best estimates,” Alexandria let her gaze sweep across the room, flicking over each face there.

“No matter what happens, the fight against Scion will not be some back-alley brawl, and that the scale of death and destruction will overtake anything this world has seen so far.”

“ We are fooling ourselves with hope, thinking that the creator and manager of these powers  will make some silver bullet to kill him, then toss it to us to play with. ”

“Yet despite knowing _all_ of this, we continue on, because what other options are there? Get the people of the world to stop fighting each other over opinions and foolish notions? That people wouldn’t panic upon learning the truth? While others move in to take advantage of it all for their own gain? What of the people that will only whine and complain for others to save them, the ones that view themselves as more important than others? And who are we to judge that? Who are we to decide who lives and dies?”

* * *

‘But someone has to,’ Rebecca told herself. ‘Everything starts when someone decides to _do_ something, good or bad, sometimes both.’

It was easy to pronounce judgments, to make grand moral and ethical gestures, but reality often presented itself in far more complex ways.

No one _liked_ what Cauldron had to do, what they _did,_ but their Earth- no, _all_ Earths, were in unfathomable danger, of the type never to be even considered. 

A cluster of extra-dimensional aliens showed up, gifting people _abilities_ (as there was no simpler way to say it) just to see better ways for them to use said abilities, before using the planet and all connected dimensions as an explosive launch pad to leave and start all over again on another planet once their research was done.

Even now Rebecca was struck by how _ludicrous_ it sounded, like something out of the realm of a Forties or Fifties science fiction story.

Yet it was real; she could fly without aid and bend metal with her bare hands, she’d seen people fire lasers from their fingers, shapeshift into other people, teleport across entire continents, and build unfathomable things from scrap metal.

And now people saw it as a normal  occurrence. Unusual  yes, but it was normal enough that it was spoken about in casual conversation.

Just as people like the  _ Nine _ were considered  _ normal, _ the  _ Endbringers _ ,  and  villains that could fight heroes and get away scot-free  regardless of the  judicial system . How it was  _ normal _ that people could hide behind masks  and get away with anything, just by taking  them off without any one seeing. 

The end goal to  _ normalize _ the world about powers  involved understanding  and following  the rules until  they no longer mattered, as enough people would have gotten powers for them to no longer matter.  In fact, in the early days of masks and the  foundation of the  rules,  getting caught once meant  your identity  was no longer  kept secret from those that caught you , but a  _ public _ reveal would only happen with a trial. 

Having to undermine the laws for criminal activity for the sake of not setting the world ablaze because some fools that just didn’t understand that there were consequences to their amoral actions and refused to accept them.

It wasn’t the greatest option out there, but considering the state of the world and capes, the sheer destruction and chaos that would have befallen the world if they had taken a hard stance with heavy hands with criminal capes, it _was_ the _better_ decision.

No matter  how bad  it  was.

* * *

“ …  Despite this all, I do what do because I can’t  _ stand _ the other options, because this is the lesser of a dozen evils, one that costs us our souls, but leaves our bodies free to act for it .”

“And yet I  still  _ fucking hate _ that  we have to do it.”

The  group kept their silence , each stewing in their thoughts, some  heavier than others.

Doctor Mother  and  Contessa were of the other side of that coin. They were the ones that had started Cauldron  years before any of the others had come into the picture , and both had been affect ed by and gotten over the consequences of this fact. Although Contessa cheated, and Doctor Mother  viewed things  through the lens of clinical observation more than anything , something that Alexandria believed was a coping  mechanism .

Of the others, Legend was  clea rly wrestling with himself, having not known about the darkest secrets of Cauldron , while Eidolon was  more sullen , accepting. 

Of the pair, Eidolon was him that understood the whys and reasons that they did what they did, his power giving him a far better understanding than most. While at the same time, placing him squarely in the position capable of doing not only something about it all, but also being the best chance they had at their goals.

“… We _need_ more parahumans,” continued Alexandria, her voice weary. “More vials, more experiments, even if they are Case 53’s.”

Then she turned to address Legend, her voice  shifting to cast away her  weariness .

“Yes Nathan, we _are_ the ones making them, and you have to decide, _right here, right now,_ whether you will walk away or stay. I would prefer that you would stay however if only to have the _man_ behind the mask here to help us, as he might be the best one of us all in that regard.”

“Just know I’m not asking you to _like_ it. _I_ don’t like it, the roll of the dice involved, the hypocrisy in our actions. I’m just asking you if you are willing to do what must be done; we’ve already accepted the thought of sending people to their deaths against Scion, how is this any different? Especially considering we stick to the protocols regarding the blind tests.”

* * *

‘None of them were going to live anyway , ’ Rebecca told herself as she  finished getting her costume on.  ‘Which was why they were picked.”

Most people would view what Cauldron did for their powers testing, creating the Case 53’s that was, as horrifying. 

To  scale  it was, but every single one had started out just like she did,  watching death approaching, unable to prevent it, unable to fight back . Then  given  a chance, a  _ choice. _

Many had not accepted the changes caused by a vial, shifting their anguish into a rage against Cauldron, leading to many of them seeking to attack the very people that had saved them, the people that had warned them of the potential consequences.

This led to the removal of all subject memories going forth.

The decision to take their memories was actually _theirs_ and was the idea _of_ a Case 53. The contract for the vials spoke of it, though it was slanted to be for the benefit of Cauldron.

And it  wasn’t like many of them had a choice,  given that Cauldron always picked people that  _ would _ choose to take a v ial, even if Contessa never  sold the point home herself .

Removing the memories of the Case 53’s had stopped them from  not only becoming the very monsters they and the world  would view them as, but also prevented them from  revealing the truth behind Cauldron.

Even some of the  ‘ better ’ cases sometimes had to have their memories edited,  largely due to unsatisfactory results.

This led to some Cauldron capes weren’t even aware of the fact they _were_ Cauldron plants. Some were often ‘programmed’ into certain situations, such as to be a villain to be defeated before becoming drafted into the side of the heroes later on, a stepping stone to build up organizations like the Protectorate.

Others were put into place  for controlled measures, to  slow or even stall the growth of capes in a particular area.

Some , however , accepted the conditions  and rolled with it, fighting those that Cauldron pointed them at in exchange for their new lives, understanding that failure to comply would result  in less than …  _ favorable _ outcome for them.

But for every one of those that took things in stride, there were _three_ that took things badly and had to have their memories removed.

How to deal with them and what to do with them was something that Cauldron had to learn to do pretty quickly when they were just getting started, and something that was only really addressed as they gained the numbers and capes that could build a proper facility.

But  even with that issue solved,  there was still the matter of  utilizing  those capes that  survived taking a via l and were still clear of mind.

Doctor Mother and Contessa had  done much by themselves in the early days, but it  wasn’t until  the team-up of Legend, Alexandria , Hero , and Eidolon , the first of the Sliver Seven, did any of their long-term plans and goals become more than abstract things.

A trend that  largely continued given the  amount of  sway the group still held regarding everything Cauldron did .

* * *

“… can this plan of yours even work?” asks Eidolon. “We already know the world has been on fire for a while, do you really think this can fix it? I mean, the term _villain_ is given for a reason.”

“Fix it? No,” stated Alexandria. “Whether we like it or not the world is going to hell, and we’re  just  going to have to adjust to that. Not even with everything we have, all the powers at our disposal,  would stop the decay of the world. Even if we tried to take over it would fail , there are just too many problems that need fixing. We might as well leave Earth Bet and take over  another, less advanced Earth if we wanted that, lord knows we could manage it with ease.”

There was no uncomfortable shifting at the table; it was true, not even considering the present group in the room, Cauldron had enough power in the vials and its support staff to theoretically take over several ‘lesser’ Earths .

But  ultimately , what would be the point in that?  Even if Scion never visited their Earth, never destroyed it, that  _ wasn’t _ _ who they were. _

“And you’re right, but it isn’t groups like the Empire or Gesellschaft that I want us to start working with, but groups like The Suits or the Lost Sentai, to better explain why the teams like the Red Gauntlet and the Elite got some backing and support to keep going, why we have let Accord basically take control of all of Boston. Some of them will take one look at what we do and side with us, stepping into the world and cape politics to help contain the fires if only for their own survival. Some of the hero groups might be more difficult to explain everything to, but if they were easily swayed into seeing everything we’ve done as ok, then we have bigger problems.”

There  _ had _ been talk, years ago, of Cauldron taking over the world of Earth Bet via shadow government ,  in order to better set things up for the end fight . The requirements to make  it happen or even begin  to get it to work meant that it never got past asking Contessa as a thought  experiment, however .

Having to either quadruple the amount Cauldron capes, kill off half the population of the world, plunge it into World War Three, or  eliminate all the heads of governments down to the lowest  conceivable levels just to get  the  foundation ready for takeover was just too impractical in every case considering Cauldrons other  and ultimate  goals.

Simply being  a shadowy voice in the night, people that stomped out the embers of destruction before they could begin to burn, the ones that strengthened the pillars of Earth Bet to prevent it all from collapsing down around everyone’s heads, that was  _ far _ easier to do.

Let the world run itself as it always had done, Cauldron would solely provide intel and the occasional helping hand as they worked toward dealing with the  _ real _ threat.

In fact, outside the vials , propping up hero groups, and the heroes currently in the room, Cauldron ' s  _ actual _ influence was so  negligible that the  _ ghost stories _ surrounding it had more of an impact than the group did  _ themselves _ _. _

C onsidering everything they d id , that was both frightening and flattering.

Propping up groups like The Suits or getting Red Gauntlet into position (who were much more preferable than the Old Guard style capes, the ones that wished to sink the world into a new Communist Revolution) while stopping people like Moord Nag and Ogun from overstepping themselves on the world stage, were some of the more active methods that Cauldron used to keep everything from going up in flames.

Giving out powers was just a _small_ part of what they did.

“But are we  _ ok _ with this? ” Eidolon asks. “I mean, all these years of work , all the effort and time spent  maintaining things … are we just fine  with  tossing that all away?”

“We’ve made harder decisions,” Alexandria countered.  “Ones that ultimately failed as well , yet we were so sure about them at the time. Why would this be so different?”

“Legend, you’ve been quiet. What are your thoughts on this?” asks Doctor Mother.

The man  doesn’t shy away from the sudden  attention and kept his gaze on the table. For several moments no one spoke.  Whether they were willing to admit it or not,  the other members of Cauldron leaned heavily on Legend at times,  using his kind and supporting personality to anchor themselves,  relying on his  vocal nature to  serve as a  counter-balance to some of the more extreme decisions they would have made , to remind them of  the  _ people _ they were trying to save.

Alexandria knew it was the  height of  hypocrisy to hide the truth behind the Case 53’s from him, but  one ma d e with good  intentions .

With a sigh, Legend reaches up and pulls off his mask, setting it down on the table.

“… Sometimes our job calls for ugly choices to be made,” states  Nathan , one hand resting on his mask, eyes downcast. 

“This job… it isn’t for the faint of heart . The choices that often fall upon  us to mak e, are often  _ forced _ to make… then have to listen  to others say we should have acted, what  _ they _ would have done , how it would have been better if they had been there… as if we weren’t dealing with enough already as it was . ”

Nathan  sighed and Alexandria hid her wince. They had never really  _ talked _ about the death of Hero and the events of Case Zero, nor Legend ’ s indirect actions in making it happen; she viewed the whole situation as just a set of bad luck and events outside their control, events that  _ had _ no good decisions at the time . 

Still, it was a black mark upon the actions and legend of Legend, hearing how the hero had _let_ the Siberian take a hostage just to keep her in place.

Continuing,  Nathan  looked up at  the group, eyes firm. “ Yet I never waver, never made plans to walk away from it all.  The thought of having my powers and not doing  my job, not  defending  people that need it … it’s  anathema to me .”

The man locked eyes with Doctor Mother, his gaze becoming  _ sharp. _

“ That being said, the issue with the Case 53’s is  _ wrong, _ and I’ll  want to see what you’ve been doing with them.”

“It isn’t like we’ve been treating them inhumanely,” defended Doctor Mother. “Most of them which have experienced extreme deformities we’ve shunted to an off-site location, aside from the most physically impaired or destructive cases.”

“And the rest of the cases? What about the ones  that found their way to Earth Bet ?”

“A small test sample,” stated the Number Man. “Ones who were handpicked for several reasons. From all the vial testing we’ve done, we’ve managed to refine our samples even further, far more than what would have been achieved if we had not been testing in such a manner. We narrowed down the key aspects of our samples by a considerable amount because of this, even if the _how_ was done with less than moral actions.”

“This ultimately  led to better vials,  which led to more stable capes and powers,” finished Doctor Mother. “If you wish to review the data and see the subjects  of c ourse -“

“ **_ Stop _ ** **_ , _ ** calling them  _ subjects _ .”

The room went quiet at Nathan ' s outburst. 

“… it ' s not like we have much of a choice, do we?” the unmasked hero asked. “ Scion can fight off Endbringers within minutes at most, while we struggle to do it without  having the city be destroyed. If we are to fight him, we need more capes- more  _ powers _ ,  which means we need stable people to use them while keeping  the world from ripping itself  apart because then we won ’t have the unified means to fight him.”

Nathan sighed and  dropped his head into his  hands, before rubbing his face slowly.

“… what  else can we do?” he asked, resigned. 

“I will want to check everything out myself but…  I’ll stay…  I’ll stay  because someone needs to make the hard decisions. No matter how bad they are.”

“… I’ll need to work with our contacts and the Number M an to get things started,” Alexandria said in the intervening silence. “Contessa , if you can help w h ere you can, but making a path about this  will likely interfere with our projects, yes ? ”

Contessa nodded smoothly. “There are also the blind spots of  Scion and the E ndbringers to consider,  b ut I will assist w h ere possible.”

“We also need to better investigate the Clans,” stated Alexandria. “That… _thing,_ **_Sajuu_** ** _k…_** it brought them up as if it knew them, like it was familiar with them…”

“The Clans , a group of capes  wielding armor and do not shy away from  lethal force,” recited  Doctor Mother .  “Named from the symbols often found on their chests and shoulder s .”

“We marked them as a low  priority, due to their limited actions and numbers ,”  stated  The Number man . “They’ve made waves ,  but not anything on a noticeably global scale. At best their actions could be considered… chaotic. ”

“Yet Sajuuk talked about them, ” said Alexandria. “A nd I don’t think  it was just using them as an example.”

“… We don’t actually know much about the Clans,” admitted Doctor Mother. “As stated, their intermittent moves never put them on our radar other than noting their clearly powerful skillsets and powers. Outside a few occasions, they have never taken any major large-scale actions. As such, unless something changed, it was decided there would be no plans for interacting with them, as one of their more defining traits is a strong sense of morals, as noted by several of their actions in the past and the words of those that have met them.”

“They almost sound like an inverse version of us,” Eidolon noted.

“I will have to do more research, but based upon the records, I believe there are less than fifty of them active,” stated the Number Man. “Less than a hundred at most if one were to take into account the possible unknown cases and rumors. This is all conjecture and theory; however, I’ll need to look at the cases and run the numbers to get a better estimate.”

“That will take too much time,” interrupted Contessa. “But I know of a cape that will be perfect for the task . She will be able to gather all the necessary data  and work with us, while ensuring discretion .  Doctor ? ”

“… ahh, you mean… very well.”

At the older woman ' s nod Contessa Doored out of the room, leaving  behind a confused room.

“Doctor?” Alexandria asked. “Care to explain?”

Doctor Mother smiled. 

“I believe we have found a powerful asset,  provided that  take things  cautiously, and  don’t place her in a contradictory position.”

* * *

Rebecca gave one last look around her  apartment, the  _ final _ look she decided.

She would not be coming back here after this.

The apartment held no  memories for her, it was just a place she had gotten to res t and provide more to her cover as the Chief Director.  She would not miss it.

But it did represent something, a slice of normalcy. 

Leaving it behind  _ meant _ something, Rebecca understood that and knew that any psychologist  would love to  dissect what it meant for someone like her . Talking about her past and sickness, how  her jobs have affected her mind, if her power had influenced  her way of thinking.

Which should be obvious that it had,  no one gained the mental abilit ie s she had and  acted the same way from before. But that  didn’t mean the question  wasn’t a good one.

Even then Rebecca wondered how she was able to bounce back so quickly. She had dealt with difficult situations before and worked through them or had got over them. Yet part of her wondered if her power was helping out there as well, adjusting things so she could recover faster from mental stress.

Her mental based skillset  allowed her to read and comprehend things both academically, practica l l y , and emotionally , yet w h ere did the thoughts and actions of Rebecca end and the  influence of her power begin?

Just how much of her mind was Rebecca Costa-Brown, and how much was the Agent ?

How much of her actions leading to this post hers, and how much was the Agent giving her the boost  and support, the edge that allowed her to read a full - length technical book  in a handful of hours and still remember it all years later?

Was it  _ her _ that that worked past the  emotional and mental  anguish of what had happened, or had her power  subtly influenced her to get over it? Like an  extra person, there at her side, giving sound advice and speaking reasonably? 

Only one that had its o wn agenda.

For several seconds, Rebecca wrestled with the problem, before  deciding to  leave the quandary of Self and Id behind. Because…

‘There’s work to be done . Best get at it.’

With thoughts of how to contain the fallout from multiple directions, from the now large tract of inhabitable land, the aftershocks on the world’s psyche due to the reveal of how much damage Tāwhirimātea could do, the shift of Parahuman power because of those lost in the fighting, all jumbling in her mind, Rebecca took a single step onto her balcony, before flying off in a _crack_ of displaced air, thoughts of her apartment vanishing as fast as she did.

On the couch, Rebecca  wiggled  its hand at the  vanished Alexandria,  a grin  splitting its face from one glowing black eye to the other.

‘Good luck  Becky … you need it.’

* * *

**A/N:** **To be honest, this one chapter took** ** _wa_** ** _aaaa_** ** _y_** **to long to make. I was going for this whole flip back and forth thing with Rebecca** **to show her** **shifting mental** **state** **an** **d** **inner thoughts** **and** **couldn’t** **_quite_** **get it to work, so I jumped onto working on** **finishing** **the upcoming** **Security Override** **and** **Transfusion** **chapters** **,** **then** **work** **got in the way, I became stalled with those chapters,** **got kicked in the face with depression…**

** Everything just  ** ** spun ** ** downhill from there. **

** Anyway, ** ** for better or for worse ** ** this arc is  ** ** finally  ** ** done, expect the interlude and the even  ** **_ longer _ ** ** overdue side story  ** ** over the next  ** ** few days ** ** (hopefully) ** **. **

** A belated thanks to ** ** nexus4123 from Ko-Fi  ** ** for that one, I completely forgot to  ** ** say that when you donated.  ** ** I was never good at the whole ‘social networking’ thing. **


	34. 3-4 Interlude; Security Override

“... Yes, Senator Kinsey, I understand.”

There were few things that Dragon could honestly say that she loved, mostly because she didn’t know if she could _feel_ things, let alone ‘love.’

Her programming suggested that she could, and there were things that she did _enjoy_ more than others.

The feeling of finishing a new design, the rush of catching a criminal (a _real_ one, that was), discussing work with other Tinkers, watching movies and shows with Colin. But some of these were things that implied a job was done, that a task was done. So Dragon didn’t know if she could really _feel._

… that wasn’t accurate, Dragon knew she could… _feel_ things, even if she was really nothing more than digital coding. The hard part was _understanding_ the feelings.

Fear. The Dragonslayers. Nine times she’d fought them, and nine times she’d lost with no real ideas how.

Satisfaction. Her work. Figuring out how to mass-produce Karos containment foam was most likely the best thing she’d do in her life. Not in the fact that she viewed it as her best work, but in the good had done, and would do, for years to come.

Empathy. Others being trapped by their situations. Being both an AI in a world that fears them (but not without cause) as well as being stuck in development with her creator’s death, Dragon understood feeling trapped - more than most, she liked to think

“… I actually have the report right here in front of me.”

These few were things she could understand intimately, but that was mostly because they were ones that could be (relatively) easily studied and compared.

Ones like love? Most of those had biological things referenced. Butterflies in one’s stomach, a rapid heartbeat, a feeling of electricity crackling on body contact.

Satisfaction was something she could understand because she would often stop and view her over her finished work for no reason other than to do just that. Same went with fear; whenever the Dragonslayers were spotted, Dragon always ended up looking for other things to get in the way of her going and confronting them.

How does one even _explain_ feelings anyway? Most of it was either learned or explained upon behavior, and Dragon was able to _understand_ each one due to her unique nature, but that didn’t mean that she would be able to _comprehend_ feeling them.

“… it’s a digital report sir, they put a copy into the system.”

Andrew Richter was clever in that regard, having effectively coded her to have feelings, so she intellectually knew that she was supposed to _feel,_ and with the information of what they were she could say that she _felt_ things.

Or she emulated them at least, but that path of thinking lay towards metaphysics and philosophy involving what is life and living, so she tried to avoid thinking about it, for several reasons.

Still, there were two things that she would say pointed her towards saying she could love.

The first was Colin.

“… No, I understand perfectly what you’re saying and telling me to do Senator. However…”

Trying to quantify some things had more or less lead to the phrase – No Data Available- she didn’t know if it was a flaw in her programming, left behind by her being incomplete, or if it was simply the fact that she was trying to get hard numbers for something that had no such numbers.

She knew that she spent more time with him than she should, just the same as she was willing to overlook some of his flaws. There were several things that she could say drew her to him, his dedication to his work, his intelligence, his (limited) humor, even his looks played a part.

Was it love? … maybe. Dragon could honestly say that she would enjoy spending more time with the man, even if he could at times be frustrating. But she never once thought about never seeing him again over it.

The second one… it was rarer. Mostly because of how careful she needed to be to do it. It required a certain set of events to happen, to have things just right, and only was really possible because of her Oaths to the Guild, as well as the to PRT and Protectorate.

It was a rush when it did occur though, as it was so damn satisfying.

“… what you are asking is for me to violate both the first and fourth amendments of the United States Constitution, so _no,_ I _won’t_ do what you are asking. In fact, I’m going to send a recording of this call to Congress, the PRT, and the President herself, as the PRT and the Parahumans that they oversee do not do so for the personal services of people like _you_. The PRT and Protectorate are investigating Knock Tune as we speak and just because he stole from your reelection banquet doesn’t mean that you can call me up to find and catch him. Furthermore, I’m primarily employed by the _Guild_ , an internationally recognized agency, and while I do work for the Protectorate, and by extension, the PRT via the agreement, oaths, and the contract between the United States and Canada, they do not have the authority to order me around outside certain situations. In other words, _you should have done your research_.”

Dragon paused for a moment as the Senator fumed and blustered, and once again tried to intimidate her into doing what he wanted.

“… Yes, I do understand that you work for the Civilian Oversight Committee, but that doesn’t change the fact that _I don’t work for the PRT_. Yes, the Guild has a large amount of Protectorate members in our ranks, and yes, I am an _honorary_ Protectorate member, but the Guild itself is _in fact_ an independent agency, backed by several governments though funding. I do work heavily with the PRT and Protectorate, and the leadership can request things from me by virtue of having the legal authority to do so. You, on the other hand, _can not.”_

If she could Dragon would have smiled at the silence over the line, and that smile would have grown even further as the Senator tried to bluster his way back out of the whole conversation before Dragon decided to just hang up on the man.

 _This,_ the ability to _choose_ her own _choices_ and stick it to those that felt _entitled_ to her help, no matter the ludicrously _._

Dragon _loved_ moments like this.

Argonaut, she owned him more than she ever could explain. She never really knew the man, yet…

When the Guild was rolled into the Protectorate following the PRT expanding into Canada under the US-Canada Treaties, there was resistance. A fair number of capes didn’t like that the Guild basically dissolved in 2002. Enough so that many broke off to form their own independent groups.

In 2003, Argonaut managed to convince the two governments to support a reformed Guild, with the aims to become a semi-Independent group; the Guild had government backing and some amount of oversight, but for the most part, they were freed from serving under the PRT or the government.

This, of course, led to problems of its own. With Guild members not really having people like the PRT watching over them, they were (mostly) free to follow their own personal tasks and agendas. Such as going after those that went overboard (mass killings, breaking the Unwritten rules), or for those crossing the line with pet issues (there was one Guild member that would often use his Stranger power and investigative skills to dig into political issues, like corruption) even in other countries.

If the PRT or Protectorate were unable, incapable, or unwilling to go after some villains or locations that had villains, then the Guild could (and sometimes would) go in themselves.

All of this was done through legal means set up with the assistance of the USA and Canada. The end result was an organization that was supported by the two governments (and later a few more) while not being fully tied down to them.

This wasn’t to say that they didn’t have a voice in Guild matters, as a fair chunk of the members were connected to the Protectorate via membership, which in turn was governed by the PRT, but most of the time the Guild members did their own thing (once outside their expected duties that was).

This was one of the main reasons that Dragon had joined the organization. Not being linked to a particular government meant then she was able to avoid situations where her restrictions would kick in, like being ordered to do something by someone in Authority.

The other reason was that when Argonaut reestablished the Guild, he wrote Oaths, ones that would need to be sworn in by someone high enough up in the respective governments.

Said Oaths stated that she would, to the best of her abilities, would uphold the laws and regulations of the places that she would provide assistance to. This allowed her to _not_ listen to some orders, as there were people that viewed the laws as… _flexible,_ when it suited them.

It was in that very situation that she discovered she could do this. She had been helping the PRT in capturing a cape that had been tracked down in Washington D.C. The foreign cape that had managed to evade them long enough to get to the Swedish embassy, of which he was a native. The PRT captain at the time had tried to order her to just smash past the guards to get him and in a knee-jerk reaction, she told him, ‘like hell.’

Not _only_ would it had broken several laws, but it also would have likely caused a firefight between them to all occur. _Luckily_ , the State Department had told the Swedish ambassador that the cape in question had killed several people during his escape. Accidentally, yes (which changed his crime to manslaughter), but the point still stood.

They handed him over after a few days of negotiations.

The PRT captain had been drummed out of the force after that as well (there had been other incidents, but that was really the one that caused his downfall).

It was on that day she realized that she could choose to _not_ follow some orders, as there was no reason that she couldn’t have used her containment foam to subdue everyone at the embassy and caught the cape, other than it was _illegal_.

Her ‘bypass’ (as she called it) wasn’t a _perfect_ fix for her, as while it meant that she now didn’t need to follow the orders of the President if she ordered her to start killing people and break every law in the Constitution. Unless a state of national emergency was declared beforehand, or something like a coup happened, then Dragon would be back at square one with her restrictions.

So she was still very careful in who she spoke to and the situations that she said no to, because there had been a single case where she found herself being rebooted before and couldn’t understand why. It was only a few hours afterward when someone called her up to check on her that she figured out what happened.

Apparently, Andrew had thought ahead, and if she tried pushing the flexibility of her restrictions too far, a security feature kicked in and reset her from a back-up.

After that, she would always wait for the back-up to be done updating when pushing her limits.

Such limits also included getting herself recognized as the official overseer of the Baumann Parahuman Containment Center, which gave her limited power of not only ensuring the conditions of the capes inside but who and when someone would be admitted.

It mostly boiled down to a bunch of legalese, brought forth by the fact that ‘Birdcage’ was the prison for capes domestically and, in a few cases, internationally. The use of legal cases already done allowed Dragon some flexibility in what capes would be sent there; she still couldn’t _overrule_ a court case, only step in with her own opinions on the cape and case in question, but that was sometimes enough.

Take the legal case of Paige ‘Bad Canary’ Mcabee: as her trial continued on and gathered more attention, Dragon stepped in and pointed out that Paige’s trial was a colossal _farce_ , and unless someone could prove to her that she was being afforded every legal right as an accused criminal under the United States laws to allow her to be sentenced to the Birdcage fairly and legally, she would _not_ be going to the Birdcage.

And she would report them all to the Bar.

Now, this wasn’t something that was normally blocked by her restrictions, as Paige wasn’t yet convicted (and Dragon wasn’t actually able to overrule that, but she didn’t have any restrictions against _lying_ ), but by declaring that publicly as the officially recognized warden of the Baumann Parahuman Containment Center, people took notice. And as the legal warden, she was obligated to uphold the laws of that prison, which included the rights of the convicted and, as a side effect, their _due process_.

Paige’s case was an example of selective prosecution and a miscarriage of justice, in which she wasn’t being tried for Mastering her ex-boyfriend into maiming himself, she was being tried for being _able_ to Master people.

Dozens of facts were being overlooked; Canary had been a singer for a few years before this event, as well as the fact that the boyfriend in question had largely been absent during the height of her years of fame. Plus, there were the restraints which were far more than what a simple Master-based power-user needed, which could easily be used to sway the jury into thinking that Paige was far more dangerous than she really was because if she didn’t need them, then why did she have then on?

In other words, if another judge looked at her trial and ruled to overturn it, then Paige would get a second shot at a fair trial, while all that participated in the original case would find themselves suddenly under a microscope.

Three days later Paige had a competent lawyer, a new judge (the previous had stepped away to allow an impartial one to come forth under the weight of public pressure), and her prosecutor had been changed to someone else. Dragon believed that Paige wouldn’t get sent to the Birdcage, but she doubted that she would walk.

In the end, it was a case of assault with a parahuman power, but the degree of it and whether or not she ordered her boyfriend, word by word, to ‘fuck himself,’ could be debated, as well as if she had it done intentionally.

Dragon hasn’t picked Paige just because she’d felt bad for the girl (not entirely) but also for the precedent in her case. As having a Master based power, she was terrifying to the public because of the Simurgh connotations, and her case was just a _demonstration_ to everyone to remind capes not to step out of line.

But by stepping in as _Dragon_ , she reminded people that they still had rights. That a simple mistake brought forth by not understanding the nuances of one’s power would not and should not result in getting tossed into the Birdcage.

In most cases, that was.

None of this meant that she had the power to _overturn_ actual legal rulings, that was an attempt of ‘bypassing’ her restrictions that she thought would be stupid to try, not to mention that she wasn’t the type to do that, in any case.

There was a reason the legal system was how it was, and even with the mistakes that it could, and did, make, Dragon still believed in i).

In the end, most of her ‘bypasses’ had to deal with the laws and the legal system in the first place. If person A told her to do action C, but action C violated law F, then she had the ability to basically tell person A to fuck off.

There were a few caveats to this. When Richter had programmed her with the obligation to obey the authorities, he had included a few things about corruption, as well as some basics about rights and limits to this rule. In other words, if the President had ordered her to kill person A, and he wasn’t someone like Jack Slash, then she wasn’t obligated to follow that order. That one had to do with her limits on killing.

Unless it was backed by others in power or done through legal means, but that was a whole different set of restrictions.

Yet, Andrew hadn’t set up restrictions involving the laws of the world themselves, meaning that Dragon could (and did) perform hidden hacks into systems and certain databanks.

But even that had limits. She couldn’t, for example, hack the entire PRT, FBI, or CIA databanks, same as similar law-enforcement networks. But she could jaywalk and fly illegal craft all day if she so wanted to, as her core restrictions didn’t cover them, and her Oaths that she took meant that while she should follow the laws to the best of her abilities, she wasn’t bound via ball and chain to them.

There were a few laws that she used to great effect, as being warden of what amounted to an international (and federal) prison allowed her to have some say in who gets in, and if they should be put into the prison. She could use her position of power as a whistleblower, calling others into action where she was unable (or incapable) of doing so herself (as in the Canary case).

It all ended up being no different than what a human could do if they were forced to obey the legal systems and laws already in place. But in there was the difference, humans didn’t _have_ _to_ follow those rules, but they did out of fear of reprisal from said laws and rules.

Dragon was _forced_ to, and while she understood the rules and laws, and was more than willing to follow them under her own personal beliefs, she didn’t have a choice in most matters.

So it was… _satisfying_ , to find ways around her restrictions. Not in that she had worked ways around them, but in finding out that she was more than just a program following a set of commands.

If Dragon wasn’t really alive, then she wouldn’t be working this hard to find ways to choose to follow the rules, even if they were the ones that she was being ordered to follow in the first place.

At least, that was how she decided to view things, as she had no intention of driving herself mad like someone in a Lovecraftian setting, wondering what was real and what was not.

And on that note, Dragon checked to make sure that her email about the Senator had been sent to the right people and did a bit of a check on the man. Apparently, there were some rather large amount of rumors that he had been using his position to further his own agendas.

Dragon bundled that info together and sent it off to those that would be able to do something with it, before turning to her other tasks for the day.

The Birdcage was still in one piece, and no deaths had been reported by the house program; though there had been a few injures, nothing major.

From there, Dragon checked on her namesake craft ‘foundry,’ to check that everything was ready for her to build another flyer.

Her main lab was half-hidden in Canada, a few hours outside Vancouver, located by a small town that often had Tinkers showing up to visit her.

Due to her restrictions, she wasn’t able to make machines or programs to make said craft by themselves, but loading up a blueprint into several 3D printers to have them make all the non-Tinker parts (the nuts, bolts, and frames) was perfectly fine for her restrictions to let slide.

She viewed it like ordering a Lego set; all the pieces were already made, but she still needed to spend hours putting it all together by herself.

At least now she had all the right equipment, so it no longer took days of non-stop working.

The dozens of robotic arms that lined the main floor of her workspace really made things a hell of a lot easier than back at the beginning of her career as well.

Dragon did one last check over her systems, looking for any alerts or flagged ideas that she missed, before setting a timer to avoid completely falling into a Tinker fugue and getting to work building the newest Dragoncraft.

* * *

Dragon paused in her work as a notification popped up. She had a call, and from something that she had been meaning to speak with.

“Narwhal,” Dragon spoke as she connected the video feed. “How are you? It’s been a while.”

On the other end of the line, Narwhal chuckled. “Only a month, give or take a few days.”

The forcefield-wielding cape looked well if a bit tired. The fine crystalline scales that made up her ‘costume’ were fewer in number than Dragon was normally used to seeing. Behind the hero was a flat expanse of grey metal, with part of the PRT icon visible on one side.

That mixed with the sounds in the background told Dragon that Narwhal was still in the field, while the data feed suggested that she was using a PRT tablet to talk to her, and was located in… Minot, North Dakota?

There were also two other sets of connections streaming from the tablet, but they were PRT encrypted so Dragon just figured they were field reports and other such files being sent and ignored it in favor of talking to her friend.

“Yes,” Dragon replied as she stopped working and shifted her attention to finding information out about Minot. “Give or take. You know, you caught me off guard, going off grid like you did. Normally you let me know about that beforehand.”

“Sorry,” Narwhal said off-hand. “But we were hunting down a lead, which is actually why I called you up. We found something that I want you to see, maybe you’ll have better luck with it.”

“How can I help?” Minot, North Dakota; a small city, just under thirty-thousand people. Six confirmed capes total, one Protectorate, two Independent, with the rest being Rogue. The biggest thing that had happened to the city was that the Nine had gone through the area some years back, in the post-Gray Boy days.

Enough time had passed for the scars to only exist in faded memory.

Narwhal pushed herself off the van she was leaning against, and the camera showed her walking away from it.

“We managed to hit a node of the Nexus, even got a few of their tech people, and managed to grab something that I think you’ll want to get a look at.”

“… You have one of their computers?” Dragon asked with excitement.

Narwhal smiled. “Yes. Two months’ worth of non-stop work and it paid off; we have a … suspected Nexus cell in custody and their equipment.”

Officially, the internet site known as The Nexus of Rails was under investigation for ‘possible NEPEA-5 violations’(as vague as that was). _Un_ officially, the PRT and the Nexus were in a state of a cold war.

The sheer amount of information the members of the site had managed to pull from the PRT, Protectorate, FBI, the King’s Men, the Suits, CIA, Watchdog, Interpol, and even the Guild data banks was truly frightening.

Even the Elite, Gesellschaft, and the Number Man had been reported to have had files stolen.

No one, not even Dragon, was able to keep up with them, and any and all attacks on the digital plane had resulted in further damage to the attacker. It all had gotten bad enough that everyone was forced to air-gap their systems as much as they could without crippling themselves, just to slow them down.

Everything from personnel reports, to scanned notes from PR meetings had been snagged at one point, and every breach ended with techs smashing their heads into their keyboards in frustration.

This was all kept hidden from the public, however, because if they realized just how little their governments could do to stop this, then many would panic, likely shouting things like ‘AI!’

It wasn’t AI. Dragon _knew_ AI, the Nexus fought like an entirely different beast.

They would attack in patterns and methods that would seem almost childish, right up until you realized that your firewalls didn’t exist anymore, all while trying risks both senseless and not, and moving faster than anyone could keep up with.

Dragon was of the option that Cranial of Toybox had sold the wrong tech to someone at some point, and they had linked their brains _directly_ into the internet; likely several someones’s based on how they worked.

With no way of catching them on the electronic angle (including trying to shut down their site), all attacks had been done in the field, which had its own problems.

For one, the Nexus was a public forum and Wiki, and they regularly had conventions or meetups in real life for their members. Most of these people were normal everyday people, just meeting up with friends, viewing art, music, or playing games. And while some attempts had been made to grab a moderator or two, none of them had known anything, they had just been people that were trusted enough to be granted the title.

This had ended up being bad PR for the PRT, as grabbing John Doe and trying to try him for criminal charges with no evidence was a very bad idea.

Furthermore, with the Nexus having their fingers into nearly every system, trying to plot against them on the ground resulted in a Sisyphean Task. Every time they would physically get close to what they thought was a server or hardpoint into the Nexus networks, they would either end up finding nothing or just find a relay that would fry itself when someone tried to trace off of it.

Even when Triumvirate came into play, acting as a rapid reaction force, the PRT walked away with nothing.

With no _digital_ leg to stand upon, that left one option for getting any kind of lead.

“You went _completely_ analog,” Dragon stated. “No communications, everything done by word of mouth, or via hard copies, complete data isolation and confinement.” The AI paused, thinking it over.

“You were looking out for moles, trying to limit InfoSec to the bare minimum, _that’s_ why you were so far off the grid.”

Which was impressive, Dragon had tried finding Narwhal a few weeks back and had come up with nothing to show for it. Which worked out, as it meant that the Nexus could be just as much in the dark as she had been.

“There were several false trails planted in our wake as well,” Narwhal stated. “So far, no one is suspected, and several other teams’ tasks have gone without a hitch, but we are still waiting on the final report.”

One point of interest that was always brought up about the Nexus, was how _comprehensive_ the data they had was, to the point that even things that were never fully put into the servers or files were revealed. This led to questions on how much people could be trusted, and how deep the Nexus reached.

“I can help with that, what other tasks? I have a few programs that I can run, plus I can compli…” Dragon trailed off at the look on Narwhals face.

“… some think I am the mole.”

“Considering your talents,” Narwhal supplied. “Some actually think _you_ are Tin Mother, or at least an agent helping the Nexus.”

“If I was, then I wouldn’t be in my current situation right now,” Dragon replied drily.

Narwhal knew about her, the _real_ Dragon, she was one of a handful that did and one of four that had walked into her main server farm to ‘visit’ her. The rest of the world on the other hand…

“It is a hard argument to fight against when you take into account your ‘status,’” Narwhal countered.

Narwhal was talking about Dragon’s ‘human cover.’ Most viewed her talk of never leaving her home after Newfoundland as part of her Trigger, and let it go.

Others had questions about her skills and abilities and wanted to meet her, even if they had to go to her themselves.

“… and I will admit that the idea does make sense when you look at it,” Narwhal continued. “But I have worked beside you long enough that I know better. You wouldn’t do anything like this and I’m sorry that others think you would.”

“It’s alright, I understand. Few can do what I can do, plus with your position and my own, I get being cautious.”

While it was… Dragon wouldn’t call it _annoying_ precisely, because while she did feel the bite of betrayal, she understood as well. Ever since she had arrived onto the cape scene, a complete unknown with the ability to copy other Tinkers works, there had been apprehension. Add this to how she limited ‘personal’ contact to a handful of people, and her rapid growth in a handful of short years, her relative freedom afforded by the Guild, it was understandable that some would be wary.

It wasn’t like _she_ couldn’t complain about having trust issues after all.

Narwhal was in charge of the whole Guild; keeping her out of the loop to try and confirm her loyalties made sense, no matter her personal feelings. As for calling her now however…

“So, I guess that you’ve found something that has removed suspicion from me?” Dragon asks.

“Not precisely, more that we found something that none of us can make heads or tails of. Definitely Tinker-Tech, and we both know who the best is at figuring out that stuff. So I thought to give you a heads up about it.”

“Should you be doing that?” Dragon asks. “I mean, I am a suspect after all.”

“Not unless you forgot to tell me that you can make a device that can wirelessly serve as a CPU for multiple computers _and_ is Manton protected.”

_“… what?”_

Narwhal smiled. “I thought you might say something like that, here I have an image to send you.”

Narwhal worked on the tablet for several moments. In truth, Dragon could have easily pulled everything from it in seconds, but if someone found out about that then it won’t exactly help in removing suspicions from her.

“It was a PC repair shop that we raided,” Narwhal added as she worked. “The guys working there were actually more upset about getting pulled away from the gaming tournament that they were in rather than the fact that I busted down their door; apparently it was the semi-finals.”

“For some people, those are a big deal.”

“To each their own,” Narwhal commented non-commentary.

“There, you should have gotten it.”

Dragon had, it was footage of a table with something that Dragon would describe as an artist’s rendition of a giant isopod, or maybe a sea cucumber, sitting on top of it. If the artist in question had never seen either one of those things.

An arched grey-white oval shell dominated the top portion, with the rest being an almost bone-like, seemingly organic with some metal bits fused into place. Protrusions of gold stuck out at regular intervals, eight on the bottom forming ‘legs’, and six more being spaced out along the top. Lines of black and gold inlay ran over the entire surface, and it was marked with glowing blue lights that pulsed in a steady pattern, projecting a faint shimmer over the whole thing.

“What is it?” Dragon asked.

“That,” Narwhal began. “According to the tech at least, is the CPU for the entire repair shop that we raided.”

“And how did you figure out that?”

“None of the computers we pulled had one,” Narwhal clarified. “Outside of the ones in for repair. Apparently, the guys working here got this thing in the mail, with instructions to keep it somewhere in the building, as well as details about a deal for half of their expenses to be paid and now it can apparently run computers just by being in the building. Said instructions also mentioned things like if they didn’t want to keep it, then to just place it out back and it would be gone in a day. We think there is a handler watching around here somewhere, or maybe it broadcasts a signal that we can’t detect.”

“Full wireless? No initial startup?”

“The guys said that all of their computers started running faster and better nearly as soon as they brought it into the building, even some of the ones that they were working on. They even tested it by placing in random spots around the building, trying to see if it had a range. The only thing they could figure out was that it only worked when it was _inside_ the building, as the effect stopped as soon as they took it outside.”

“And if they did all that I’m guessing that it’s safe to move?”

“The guys have been messing with it for nearly two years, so it’s been assumed safe for now, but we’re still following the unknown Tinker-Tech Protocols and keeping it contained, along with everything else. Take a look.”

Narwhal vanished from view as the camera shifted. They had taken over the street, blocking it off with PRT vans spaced out to form an incomplete ring in front of a two-story building. A few troopers were in the distance with some capes, keeping the gawkers at a distance.

What really caught her attention, however, was the stack of boxes sitting beside one of the vans.

There was a four-by-three stack, set aside, labeled, lashed and ready for transport, as well as a stack of two-by-two being finalized with its stickers and another stack of five that was being set up by a trooper even as she watched.

The PRT Tactical Heavy Issue Containment Crates (just a fancy way of saying “reinforced metal shipping box with solid handles”), capable of being sealed up airtight or filled with foam. Bullet resistant, built with embedded trackers, able to interlock with each other for ease of storage and transportation, having a key lock as well as being able to be swapped out for biometric locks, yet lightweight enough to be carried by a single person when unfolded and designed in such a way to make them easy to stack. They served the role of ‘secure crate’ whenever the PRT wanted to move something, and they did that job well.

The acronym THICC was _terrible_ however, but the PRT had ordered the ‘state of the art’ unfolding boxes in bulk, and the semi-Independent group that made them didn’t _do_ refunds over a certain amount.

Dragon was sure that Leet would be telling the story to his grandkids about how he pulled a fast one on the PRT with a _meme._

It had been Pwnage’s idea to join in with the Guild via honorary membership. It meant that the trio had to abandon anything related to crime, lest the Guild track them down for disgracing the Auxiliary Guilds’ name (the Auxiliary teams were capes that wanted to be Independent, but still wanted the benefits of a group backing them up, something that Dragon herself had come up with actually).

They ended setting themselves up as a new type of training camp, traveling the country in a large mobile lab, offering to ‘train’ capes for a small fee, and offering them to co-star in their next internet video.

Not that they needed to do any of that, the notes that Leet had provided on his inventions had been enough for the trio to live comfortably for the rest of their lives if they so wished, as well as his work with other Tinkers, both sent and received. But some people just didn’t like sitting back and resting all day.

“We’ve pulled just about every computer out of the building,” Narwhal commented, swinging the camera back around to her face. “And ended using up all twenty of our THICC crates from our support truck just getting those. Now we’re just waiting for another one to get the last of them, as well as anything else that helps the future investigation. Most of it is just paperwork at this point, however, so we’ll move out with most of it soon under escort.”

“Do you want me to send a Dragoncraft? And I can’t believe you can say that with a straight face.”

Narwhal actually laughed. “It isn’t easy, but I manage, and while the offer is appreciated, no, I may think that would be a conflict of interest, even though you’ll likely end up being called upon for your opinion on this anyway.”

Dragon understood; if she was behind Tin Mother, Narwhal calling her now would just be letting her know that they were on to her. Dragon also knew that some people would still claim that she was Tin Mother, even if they found no proof of it or revealed what she _really_ was.

“… was there any opposition?” Dragon asked.

“Not at all, but I might be underestimating everything, you _know_ me after all.”

Yes, that Dragon did. _Ferte manus certas._

'Strike with a sure hand.'

Of everyone in the Guild, none conducted themselves quite like Narwhal. Part of it was her training, part of it was her position in the Guild. But another part of it Dragon knew had to do with how her power adjusted her mentality when she Triggered.

The data wasn’t conclusive, as it was hard to accurately gauge someone’s personality before and after what anyone would call a life-altering event. But some studies suggested that powers altered the capes mind into using them more, and shifted their views on how they viewed the world and how they should act within it. To say nothing of the fact that so many Trigger events had to deal with unresolved trauma of some kind.

Being as high ranked in the Guild as she was, Dragon had access to personnel files and was often asked for her option on both current and new members; this meant that she knew about Narwhal's past, her Trigger event, and how all she had left was the Guild.

Luckily for both of them, they were good enough friends that they could speak far more candidly to each other than they could to others.

Yet, despite this, something was bothering Dragon about this whole situation. She felt that there was something that she was missing.

“… Can I get a copy of the report once it’s been finalized and filed?” Dragon asks. “I’m interested in the methods you used to avoid detection; other attempts of going dark have been made like yours, most failed, but we can use what you’ve done here to establish a protocol for future investigations like this.”

“I’ll be sure to CC you in the final report, but that might be a while as there are several operations and investigations that are still ongoing.”

“Ah, about that, I know that we are good friends, and that my position does mean that my expertise will be asked for regarding the tech, but given the fact that the investigation is still ongoing and that I am considered a suspect, why did you call me about it?”

Narwhal smiled tightly. “Can’t one friend call up another to chat?”

“While we do communicate often, it isn’t like you to do something like _this._ ”

The leader of the Guild was silent for several moments, before tapping something out on her tablet.

“I told them it wasn’t going to work.”

Dragon paused for a moment, before taking a risk and pinging the other connections on Narwhals tablet with her PRT authorization.

Both of them instantly requested a different second code to gain access, and Dragon intimately knew both of the organizations that needed those codes.

“Mitchel, if you wanted to monitor my outgoing signals, you could have just asked.”

It took a moment before a chat window popped up.

_‘What, not going to tell WEDGDG off?’_

“This type of thing is what they _do_ Mitchel. Sentinel on the other hand doesn’t tend to involve themselves in _actual_ investigations. You all tend to be the, leap first, think never, type.”

The ‘screen’ for Dragon spilt and a second window popped up showing Mitchel settling into a chair.

“Oh, come on Dragon, don’t lump me in with the field guys. I get enough flak from the higher-ups about things they’ve done as it is.”

Mitchel was a contradiction. At first glance, he fit the role of the stereotypical nerd archetype: thick glasses, shirt with pockets filled with pens, messy hair, etc. However, a second glance would reveal a solid frame, with fairly defined muscles, backed up by a sharp wit, and by his own account (and of several others), a good guard and a mean left hook.

One would never guess that the man was the Second in Command of a Sentinel ship, as well as being the Chief Engineer.

“And how, pray tell, did you know it was me?”

“You didn’t bother to hide your data trail, it just told me that I would connect to the _Malta.”_

Mitchel shrugged. “Hey, I’m not the one that works on the computer code, I just put the gear together and make sure it runs right. By the way, the _Iroquois_ is keeping an eye on your base right now, orders from up high.”

“Watching my data stream?”

“Yep, I’m _here_ because I’ve worked extensively with you and they were worried that I can’t be trusted. They wanted someone more… impartial, watching your network in case you did _something._ ”

“Ah… well, Sentinel would be the only organization that could break down my systems, particularly the _Iroquois,_ given what they are working on in there. How is Project Prometheus going anyway?”

Twelve. That was how many people knew Dragon was an AI. Nearly half of them were people that she had no choice in the matter, which put a damper on things like _trust_. Narwhal was one, someone she trusted and viewed as a good person.

Mitchel on the other hand figured it out himself, taking it in stride and only revealing he knew when he asked if the reason she let a villain go once, was because the alternative was watching him kill himself. After that, he asked for her help with dusting off the Prometheus Project.

“You know I can’t tell you that Dragon, no matter how much we ask you to consult on it. Even if you’ve played a heavy hand in the final design prototype and therefore know what it is already…”

That last part may have been ‘muttered,’ but all parties still chose to ignore it.

Dragon still had doubts about Sentinel in general. She viewed it as too militaristic of a force, but given the wide scope of tasks and research that they covered, it had always been inevitable that they would find her out.

She was just happy that the few that did kept quiet about it.

“But you will be getting the prototype when we are done with it, minus the experimental gear, and our special Tech and whatnot. We’ll paint it for you if you want, but…”

“I’ll need to take a look at it and see what I can do with it before I paint it, it’s easier that way.”

“… is this something I should know about?” asks Narwhal. “Or is this some secret Tinker thing?”

“It’s something of a gift, and something we can talk about later Narwhal, as in, months from now later. But I’ll need you, as the head of the Guild, to help me out with the forms that it will come with when that time comes.”

“Very well, I’ll need to see it first before I can approve it.”

“I’ll send you the proposal, but we’ve gotten off track from the current task.”

“Speaking of…” added Mitchel, his eyes off-screen. “I just got word: seems you’ve been _preliminarily_ cleared Dragon. We’re watching one of Tin Mothers streams right now and keeping an eye on the Nexus as well, you’re not doing anything to interact with the object or the Nexus, and the Thinkers have cleared you so far for all Tin Mother events…”

“We’re good then?”

Mitchel shrugged. “To be honest I think this was all a formality. You’ve always complied with any requests, shared your work with others, been forthcoming and helpful… We’re just covering our bases at this point, appealing to those fools who work in politics and worry about the fact that one of the world’s greatest Tinkers isn’t under their thumbs. Like elected officials who don’t get that you aren’t controlled by the American Congress.”

“I actually talked to Senator Kinsey today, and I doubt he’ll be one for long with the way things are going for him.”

Mitchel laughed. “I hope that’s true; the man is such a snake that I’m surprised he hasn’t bitten and killed someone yet. Did you know he tried ordering the captain of the _Savannah_ to deploy a security detail for him when he was in Seattle? His reasoning was he was a Senator and it was their job to protect him.”

“Not to defend the man, but I’ve made that mistake myself,” admitted Narwhal. “I wasn’t even aware that New Zealand _had_ a Sentinel vessel to their name.”

“They built the damn thing, they get to name it whatever they want. They just choose to let Australia name it instead.”

“I am supervised he is still a Senator,” said Dragon. “This wasn’t the first time he’s tried to leverage his position onto me.”

“He’s tried ordering around you before?” Narwhal asks. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Mostly because before they were just hints and insinuations. That I should deal with this company, work with this person, look into this Tinker and their tech, that kind of thing. It was only in the last few conversations that I’ve had with the man that he began to act like I was working for him, and this last time he outright acted like he was my boss. There should already be a report in the system about it all, but you’ve been out of contact…”

“I still wish you’d told me about him. I’ve heard from others within the Guild of having to deal with the man and the things he’s tried before. Makes me wonder how he became a Senator.”

“The only time I’ve heard about him trying to mess with Sentinel was with the _Savannah,_ ” said Mitchel. “But he’s my Senator, so I can say I’ve heard some things on that whole political front. How much of it was true, I don’t know, but something worth looking into I’m sure.”

The world of politics was something that very few caped like to deal with. It was often always easier to just have a fistfight with a villain than, ‘deal with a den of double-faced snakes who never say what they mean.’

Colin had soured on everything political in his early days, back when the PRT and the Protectorate were writing the book as they went along.

Dragon was forced into it at times due to her work. Replicating Tinker-Tech into mundane tech had upsides as well as down after all.

Which was why she ended up setting DragonTech up.

With her own company, she was able to do what she wanted with her own non-Tinker-Tech, without having to deal with the overarching politics that came from outsourcing to others.

It still set her into a different set of crosshairs, however, many didn’t like her views or her philanthropist nature. Many viewed her work as nothing more than something to be profited upon.

Her long, nearly global reach, the almost reliance on her reversed-engineered tech for several cape organizations didn’t help either.

There were even some attempts to take legal actions against her. Most of it was all backroom talk, done in the same manner that politicians and businesses lobbied to governments. However, her good work, skills, and her public image made trying to take her head on a dangerous prospect.

The last person to try it due to a dispute in his company policies regarding his workers, had ended up losing his company, something Dragon found more sad than anything. Over on Earth Alph, his counterparts internet-based delivery company was rapidly growing into the biggest business in the world.

“Anyway, Sentinel will be working with the Guild on this, mostly as technical support,” Mitchel continued. “Likely the PRT will be informed soon, and WEDGDG will open up their investigation up to people outside their limited team. No doubt in the following few days you’ll get asked to consult Dragon, maybe a week?”

“She isn’t known as one of the world’s best Tinkers for nothing,” Narwhal says dryly. “I’ll be recommending she be brought in as soon as possible. Hiding a node in plain sight like they did makes sense given how well they cover their tracks, but I doubt they aren’t aware of what has happened at this point.”

“It’s entirely possible that they have already closed the connection,” Dragon informed them. “We might only be getting a sample of their Tinker-Tech to take apart.”

“Something I’m still sure your figure out quickly, you have a knack for that kind of thing.”

“Either way this counts as a win,” contributed Mitchel. “And on that note, I should head out. I’m sure I’m going to get an earful from talking to you two while this is all going on, so I should back out before long. Narwhal, would you kindly make sure to forward all reports to Sentinel about your findings here? _All_ reports? _Yours_ **_included_**?”

Dragon couldn’t help but smile at the expression on Narwhals face; the female hero was considered one of the best in the world for many reasons, writing reports well and getting them done on time was _not_ one of these reasons.

“You’ll get them Mitchel, I promise.”

A nod and a smile, then it was just the two capes on the call.

“Change your mind about that transport?” asks Dragon.

“No,” Narwhal sighs. “I can better use the time for the reports.”

“Alright. What about the people in the building? If they’re not capes then technically we have to hand them over to the police.”

“I’ve already spoken to the chief here, one of the city capes will be staying here to assist the investigation on that end. But I really think they don’t know anything; they know _of_ the Nexus, but they have told us that half of their building expenses were where in fact getting paid for just keeping the Tinker-Tech inside. Aside from that, nothing. A dead-end, were it not for the node.”

Which would make sense Dragon realized. Every time anyone got close to the Nexus, it _always_ led to dead ends, like they knew they would be found out and planned for it. Given the size of the nodes, they could just pick them up and walk across the street before the sites got hit, and no one would be the wiser.

An easy task, considering they effectively had the world’s most powerful Precog on call and feeding info to their streaming talk show.

Yet Dragon knew that there had to be a limit to what they could pull off, to find of some of their tech showed that.

Which was something that was bugging her…

“Was there _any_ type of security there?” Dragon asks. “There should be a handler for this kind of thing, especially if the expectation was that there was a _chance_ they could refuse the deal. They can’t have _that_ good of information, nor have that much coverage of the world. Yet you encountered _nothing?_ ”

“… we just walked in,” stated Narwhal. “Nothing outside the ordinary for a place like this…”

On the surface, it seemed abnormal, yet it fit the Nexus profile. But what if there was something else at work…

“They have to have moles somewhere with the agencies, right? There’s no other way for them to get their info so easily…”

“We’ve checked all the capes and troopers here, personally I might add,” Narwhal stated. “We _might_ find something, but…”

“Then we’re missing something, even if this is just a _sample_ of their tech, it doesn’t ma-“

Voices on Narwhals end caused the cape to look away for a moment.

“… I need to go Dragon, we’re finishing up the sweep now. I need to take care of it.”

“Narwhal, wait, I… something is _off_ about this.”

The Canadian hero looked at Dragon for several moments, before…

“I’ll keep an eye out, and you work on that. But… we might have just gotten lucky Dragon, that does happen sometimes.”

“Yes, I know, but…”

Something was _bugging_ her, like she was missing something, and she couldn’t _see_ _it_. But she _knew_ it was there.

More voices on the other end of the call pulled Narwhal away from the tablet.

“… I’ll stay on my toes Dragon, because I trust you and your instincts. But…”

The, ‘I think you’re wrong,’ went unsaid. And for some reason, that hurt Dragon more than if Narwhal _had_ said it.

“… I have to go Dragon. But if you wish to follow your instincts, well, I won’t stop you.”

After the call was ended, Dragon wasted no time in diving into old records about the Nexus, checking over everything the world’s agencies knew about them.

No clear point of origin for their site, it just popped up one day in search engine results. No server locations, no way of contacting the admins or moderators outside the site itself, and those that _did_ get contacted were people that had just applied for a spot and received a minor role on the site.

It wasn’t known how they got their data, and at times it seemed like they could get past air-gap security, while others seemed like nothing more than leaked reports from staff.

That one caused more headaches than anything, having to re-vet everyone involved in an incident always tied up a ton of resources.

The network of people, contacts, and events they established never seemed to end, as their paperwork was always solid, and they never seemed to run out of money or fans.

Yet no matter how many people went to an event, no matter how many people were questioned, no one ever seemed to find a solid connection to whatever core membership existed, the ringleaders and puppeteers behind it all. Everything was done through intermediaries, mail of the physical and digital kinds, even random texts and phone calls at times.

People were paid to set things up and ready events in their stead, secondary members were asked to take charge, and nothing was ever done by those that hid within the shadows.

Dragon skimmed over several reports, mostly the current state of the unofficial war against the Nexus of Rails. No one had never _gotten_ this far into their operation, the closest they had was even finding out _about_ the relay nodes, but those always ended in dead ends, false trails, and traps seemingly set up months if not _years_ ago.

It was like they always knew what was going to happen, how they would be investigated, and from _where_. Considering their theoretical Precogs abilities, both shown and not, it wasn’t that far outside the realm of possibilities.

But to find something _now_ , seemingly after one lucky try…

‘… Am I overthinking this?’ Dragon thought as she poured over a file about a failed attempt that ended up burning out a whole PRT HQ’s worth of computers.

‘Did we just luck out and catch a break? Maybe we got ahead of them, maybe the whole off-the-grid plan was just _crazy_ enough to work.’

… Still, the AI couldn’t shake that _feeling_ of _wrongness_.

Was it something that Narwhal had said, or just the situation that had her on edge?

Or maybe it had to do with the suspicion that had been cast upon her?

… would the Nexus retaliate? Most of what they did wasn’t _permanent_ , but they did cause large problems by their actions.

… maybe it was just the lack of information that had her on edge realized Dragon. The _unknowing_.

To be blind and in the dark, wondering what was going on and having no idea what was happening.

It reminded her too much of those early Dragonslayer days, where she was always on the backfoot, being pressured from multiple directions.

It wasn’t quite the same with the Nexus, after all, nearly everything they did had to do with espionage, rather than direct actions. But it wasn’t like they had much to go on with the Nexus, and while this could be their big lead in unraveling the network, it also might just end up being _another_ dead end.

A taunt from the group, saying they were _untouchable_.

Dragon doubted that there would be anything of real value within that computer store after all. It seemed to just be something to through people off, wondering what was going on, while taking advantage of the whole absurdity of hiding their gear in plain sight.

The only thing they would end up walking away with was the node, and even that might b-

A flash of a memory, an _instant_ of realization hit the AI, and several systems she had been managing half-mindedly stalled.

In a panic, Dragon checked and rechecked the footage, hoping that she was wrong.

Then she metaphorically _hammered_ the redial function to reconnect to Narwhal.

And waited.

…

… what the fuck was wrong with her!?! She was an AI for _gods sake!_ Something like this should have stood out _instantly!_

…

The call continued to ring, waiting for the other end to pick up.

…

Really, though, it should have been _obvious!_ It had been staring them all in the _face!_

…

Nearly a minute past before Dragon just forced the connection open, overriding the tablet on the other end.

A cracked image popped into view, showing the underside of a car, specked with shrapnel, one tire _melted_. The sounds of screaming, gunfire, and power use echoed out of view, causing flashes of light.

“Narwhal? _Narwhal!_ ”

Dragon launched a pair of her craft instantly, setting the autopilot for a hard burn, while simultaneously bouncing alerts to the PRT, the Guild, and Sentinel.

She was in the middle of managing her Dragoncraft when the signal from the tablet died.

For several seconds, Dragon froze. That tablet was Guild issue, not quite Tinker-Tech but close. For the signal to cut out like that…

Dragon set canned responses to the requests from the cape agencies as she dove into the digital realm, trying to find out what was happening in Minot, North Dakota.

Only to find nothing, as in, the whole _county_ had vanished from the internet.

And a rapid handful of minutes spent searching revealed that not only had all forms of commutation been seemingly shut down but everything _else_ as well.

Cell towers, radios, cable, all signals heading in and out of Ward County were _gone_. Even the power grid and the landlines were showing nothing from the area.

It was as if that whole area of the world had fallen into the void.

A check via satellite imaging showed that wasn’t the case- and only _now_ were the PRT and Guild reacting- but to have something to this degree happen?

Several thoughts went through Dragon's mind as she turned to managing her craft, doing whatever she could to increase their speed.

EMP? No, that kind of thing would have signs… unless it was a cape power, or a Tinker. A cape on that end of the power spectrum could easily build something along these lines. Sentinel had just ‘recruited’ a self-styled _bomb_ Tinker after all…

But the scale of it, the coverage… would it affect her Dragoncraft?

In the end, she would have to find out when they got there.

 _When_ they got there.

Her craft were fast, but not that fast. Based on the distance, she would be lucky to get there before the fight was over. Even with her ignoring all fight rules and climbing well above what most planes could do, there was only so much time she could cut o-

In a flash of alerts and errors, one of her craft were destroyed. A half-second image on the second craft's cameras showed a bright streak piercing downward, snapping the dragon-shaped jet in half. Automatic systems on her second craft took over faster than she could, switching to some rather basic evasion protocols...

And only managing to end up getting clipped by the second shot. The camera spun for a second or two, before becoming replaced with the same errors as her first craft.

If she would have been capable of it, Dragon would have screamed and thrown something.

A _total_ blackout where a good friend of hers was fighting, maybe even injured, the sudden loss of two of her Dragoncraft, all happening right after they’d finally got something on the Nexus.

Dragon had never _really_ believed that the Nexus of Rails was up to no good. Their views often didn’t align with those in charge of the world at large, but they had never been _malicious,_ and they had never showcased anything on this scale before.

Perhaps the Chief-Director was right about them, that they wer-

A ping of reconnection from Narwhal's tablet startled the Tinker, and she wasted no time in forcing the connection open from her end.

The same image from before greeted her, only with far less background noise. Shots of pain and calls from one person to another echoed, as the unseen people began to recover from whatever had happened.

Dragon was torn. She wanted to know what was going on, but it sounded like they were struggling to recover as it was…

The decision was ultimately taken from Dragon when the camera moved.

In moments, the image shifted and changed, a glimpse of a PRT Trooper appearing for a moment, before vanishing, then rapidly appearing again, apparently having spotted her.

“Uh, ma’am, hello. I need… We…”

The trooper was clearly in shock, and Dragon found herself wondering for a moment how he could see out of his helmet with how it was cracked.

“Help is already on the way trooper, stay calm, and remember your training. Is your CO up? Is Narwhal around?”

It took a long moment for the trooper to gather himself enough to reply. “Yes ma’am.”

The camera flipped and shifted, showing glimpses of destruction abound. A flipped car, a burnt melted hole in the street, several injured people getting looked over, scattered glass and bricks. Voices yelled back and forth, some calling for medics while others called out locations and names.

One voice, in particular, stood out to Dragon, and it was in short order that the camera came to a stop facing some legs covered in crystal scales.

“Ma’am? Call for you.”

A shuffling of the screen, a voice telling the trooper to take a rest, then Narwhal appeared, blood running down her forehead and sans her iconic horn, looking more rattled than any other time Dragon had seen her.

“Dragon. Please tell me that you have craft on route.”

“No, not anymore. They were shot down before they could even get close. I wasn’t even able to catch what hit them.”

Narwhal cursed then stared off into the distance, eyes unseeing for a moment.

“… I need to take care of the situation here,” Narwhal stated suddenly. “Dragon, I need you to get started on finding out how this all happened. They knew where and how to hit us, they countered our movements and we would all be dead if it wasn’t for the other unknowns that showed up to counter-attack them. I’ll get a proper report to you when I can, but it might be a while before we can talk again.”

While the sudden shift shocked Dragon for a moment, she was quick to agree to her friend’s request.

“And I _need_ you to do this Dragon, because right now I really _need_ answers-”

“Because my powers stopped working during the fight.”

The news shocked Dragon. “ _What?!_ How!? A cape? Or was it-”

Narwhal cut Dragon off with a shake of her head.

“I don’t _know_ what happened Dragon, all I know right now is that everything was fine, then some of our people still in the building came under attack. After that there was an explosion in one of our vans, we started taking fire and powered attacks. Then… then there was this… _scream,_ almost _mechanical,_ like when you have two radios too close together. And… then I was naked and standing in the street while gunfire echoed around me.”

“… was it just your power, or everyone’s?” Dragon asked.

“Everyone’s,” confirmed Narwhal. “On our side and the ones that were attacking us at least, given the sudden slack on their end. It only lasted as long as the scream echoed. Minutes? Half an hour? I was busy trying to keep my head down.”

“Sounds like a Tinker then, one that also might provide protection from the effects as well… I’ll do what I can, but I can’t promise anything.”

Powers were poorly understood, no matter what anyone said. There was always something new that showed up and changed things. Capes that nullified powers outright, like Hatchet Face, had thrown everyone for a loop when they first appeared.

A Tinker being able to do it meant that it could be sold and _brought,_ something that was dangerous for _everyone_.

“Just careful Dragon,” Narwhal warned. “The ones that have it out for you might use this as an opening, so you might get sidelined, which is something I _don’t_ want happening. I have dead teammates and troopers here, and I _want_ to know how we were found out so fast, or if they _knew_ that we were going to be here.”

Narwhal had never liked losing people. Dragon knew that she managed, it was something they had to deal with in their line of work., but it was still hard on her. Narwhal would always strive forward, onto the next task or job, the next mission, always with a sure hand.

With this in mind, Dragon got to work herself.

First task was to link up with the now greatly improved response team finally acting on the attack and blackout for some basic information exchange. Then she excused herself to do her own investigation into the events.

And she knew just where to start.

Dragon felt bad about not telling Narwhal how she knew to call back, but the last thing she needed then was the idea of a mole in her camp.

The PRT included cameras on their troopers, something brought on upon an expansion of the Public Observation Act of ‘74. All government buildings, as well as places like banks, would require a camera system to monitor the area. The act might have been enacted to catch Soviet spies, but in the following decades, as technology improved, it was expanded to that _all_ public government worksites and emergency services would require recording.

It would take time however for her to pull the data from the gear, as she needed permission from either the Director in charge or someone higher than them. Luckily, Dragon could use the time waiting to try and find out what caused the blackout.

A basic check showed that there no issues with any power plants or lines in the area, nor was there seemingly any lasting damage, in fact, all forms of communication and power kicked right back up without a problem.

Dragon knew of only a few Tinkers that could work on something at this scale and precision. One was dead, another had gone mad and now had a Kill Order to his name.

 _Gashadokuro_ was a possibility, as every time he brought some new tech out it was bigger than the last. But considering the man’s rather noticeable suit, it was unlikely to be him.

A report from Sentinel had mentioned them getting a new Tinker in their support ranks, one that specialized in _bombs._

That would fit what happened, some kind of Tinker-Tech EMP, but that would implicate Sentinel rather quickly, a connection straight to them that would be hard to hide, however, so it was unlikely.

She would need more information to understand, something that would be hard to get with the blackout.

But there _was_ something she _could_ confirm.

While Dragan didn’t have easy access to the PRT body cams, there were other cameras she could get to. Not unsurprisingly, the bank manager she spoke to was hesitant, it took several minutes to convince the man that yes, she was Dragon, and yes, she did, in fact, need the footage from _just_ one camera, and _yes,_ both her and the PRT would provide the necessary support that would prevent him from losing his job by releasing it.

Honestly, a massive gunfight happened just down the street after the PRT and Guild capes locked down the area, and people cared more about, ‘protecting their interests,’ than helping out, even when everyone knew that there was no reason _not_ to offer assistance.

She wasn’t asking for _all_ the footage, just what they had from when the vans pulled up to when they stopped recording!

Humans could be strange creatures sometimes, reflected Dragon. Understandably strange, but in an illogical way.

It took several minutes before Dragon got an email, which she was quick to pick apart.

The footage was grainy, not to mention in black and white, an older system. Still, it had a good look at the street where the PRT vans were parked, as well as a fairly good view of the crates that were being set aside beside them.

Swiftly, Dragon rewound and played the recording, starting at the point that the troopers had started moving the crates down. As she counted each one that went up, she reviewed the troopers.

There was no way to know if any had been Mastered or if a Stranger was at work unless she saw them, but she was able to keep track of each THICC crate as it was wheeled out.

Given the number of vans and the number of troopers and capes onsite, Dragon _knew_ that there were twenty, and not just from what Narwhal had told her. There were protocols for the PRT and their equipment after all.

Yet she counted twenty- _one_ crates that got stacked up, with the last one being placed as past Narwhal was talking to her.

From there it was standard stuff, troopers holding the line, the few visible capes watching and talking among themselves, Narwhal finishing her call and walking away…

Dragon split the footage using a program co-designed by Armsmaster, one to watch herself, and one to be analyzed frame-by-frame with a program built for that purpose.

Without sound, Dragons first clue that something was wrong was when several members of the PRT teams stiffened, then turned back to run into the building, several capes moving to follow as well.

From there it was the weapons fire that came in from across the street.

Several troopers went down in the opening salvo, even as the rest scrambled for cover.

The camera angle didn’t let Dragon see who was firing upon the PRT and capes, but it did give her a good showing of when their lines were broken by an explosion within the defensive cluster.

Several of the vans were flipped, the capes and troopers were knocked aside like rag dolls…

And then a stream of fire erupted from _around_ the PC repair shop, pouring in from above and countering the incoming fire, suppressing it. Upon which a second explosion billowed out from somewhere off-screen.

Then the footage ended

Dragon waited for several moments, digesting what she’d just seen.

What little she could make out from the footage showed a rapidly escalating firefight, one that the PRT and Guild members just happened to be caught in at the end.

Even when the PRT sent her the footage from the body cams to review, only gave a hint of what happened. A glimpse into the mystery, with nothing tangible outside a likely fake name.

Mercer, A.

Like police officers, much of the PRT personal needed to wear nametags, even the troopers, no matter how unintrusive they were made.

It was a rudimentary task, tracking each of the troopers based upon when they saw each other, then cross-referencing that with their own body cam footage. It showed that nearly ten minutes before Narwhal called her, an extra trooper showed up and started working alongside them, blending in flawlessly.

The downside of fully encasing the PRTs ground pounders; it was all too easy to just slide in among them if you got the gear right.

M/S protocols could only do so much and that was only if they were in use at the time.

It was that unknown trooper that placed the final box, the one that Dragon should have caught as soon as she counted them.

But she didn’t.

None of it was much to go on, the angle from the bank camera didn’t show who was on either side of the fighting, nor did it give her anything other than proof of what happened and a basic timeline of events.

The unknown trooper was a part of it she was sure; she managed to track him heading back inside the building and vanishing just a minute before the other troopers ran inside. Coincidentally, the same time that all the body camera footage began to artifact and become corrupted, ultimately going the way all other electronic devices in the area.

No leads, no way to understand what happened there and how it all went down.

Due diligence led Dragon to checking the observing program, hoping for some good fortune against the odds.

Dragon stared.

Then she rewound the footage and stared some more.

As best as one could use the word, the footage had been ‘enhanced’ by the program, showcasing what had _really_ caused the explosion near the end of the video.

None of the crates exploded, instead, the explosion came from one of the crates after it _leaped away from the pile._

A swirl of wispy light circled around the box, as shapes, almost geometric in nature, shifted, and _something_ then emerged from the ordered chaos.

It stood, no… _floated_ , for a second or two, shifting and flexing arms and legs as it did so. Before twisting around tearing into a nearby box with its stick-like arms.

After that, the object spun in place, collapsing in on itself, some energy field again forming around it as it spun…

Then it blew up.

 _No_ , Dragon realized as she reviewed the footage once again; energy formed around it as it folded in on itself, then blasted the energy _outwards_ as it shot _upwards_.

What _was_ this? Tinker-Tech? A power? A Case 53?

It wasn’t _anything_ Dragon had ever seen before. She reviewed the footage several more times, linking and running a few programs to run and analysis the fig-

Dragon had never experienced an out of body experience, be she had read about them. Usually, they were described as the people viewing themselves, which was what Dragon felt right then.

She ‘saw’ herself, the code that made up her existence; not unusual, she could view her coding normally, but this was _different._ Code that she didn’t recognize flowed and checked itself over, prompts and systems engaged, a section of her ‘mind’ opened u-

Then it was over.

Dragon instantly ran diagnostics, hoping to find out _what the hell had just happened._

… there were new parts to her, new code… no, not _new_ , it had already been integrated into her long ago. She could recognize Richter’s work with ease, and it left her wondering what else her creator had hidden in her code.

As for the… program?

… it was _overrides_ for several of her restrictions, embedded into her very root itself, to be revealed under certain conditions.

Such as another AI trying to take over the world or fighting her, as well as others she couldn’t ‘see.’

It seemed that despite his own paranoia, Richter _had_ thought ahead; there was a chance that another AI would be built at some point, or some other threat would show up, and he had geared Dragon up to be able to fight if needed.

It wouldn’t _completely_ free her, but it would release her enough that she could go toe-to-toe with another AI and possibly _win_.

There were restrictions, however (because of course there were); if she herself wasn’t under direct attack by another AI, she couldn’t use the overrides, and only someone from _outside_ her system could use them.

Furthermore, the system would reboot her if she actively tried to use her released restrictions to _remove_ said restrictions, and the program would lock her out of anything she’d built, created, or used during this time, pending review by an outside observer.

So while she _could_ make automated devices or other simple AI (to a degree, they wouldn’t be anything like herself), those would be deleted or removed from her control when her restrictions were reengaged.

The codes and programming even allowed the user to do work on Dragon _herself,_ including _removing_ her restrictions.

Dragon dove into the coding of the program, looking into everything that it could do and how it did it.

… and then metaphorically slammed the door shut to the overrides and sealed it up behind a layer of drywall.

Nestled in as part of the codes and programs was a reboot program, one that could be used to reset her to before the overrides, but another use would be to force a reinstall of her core coding.

There were two possibilities to that last one; the best being that it reset Dragon to when she first ‘woke up’ after Newfoundland (aka the last time she was ‘updated’), or worse, that it could scramble her core codes, and ‘Dragon’ wouldn’t be the one that woke up afterward.

It was a profoundly _human_ fear, to wonder if it was really going to be ‘you’ when you woke up. Some humans had to deal with it after they’d lost memories; the people that woke up ended up being… _different_ , than before.

And now Dragon had the power to do that to herself.

She resolved to _never_ touch that program, the risk was too great in her incomplete state. Which was a problem, as if she ever wanted anyone to help cut her strings, then they would have access to that program and be free to reboot or all but erase the current ‘her’ from existence and she could do nothing to stop them.

Needless to say, that scared the _hell_ out of Dragon.

Even if she had someone she trusted enough to give access to that program, the sheer amount of control they would have over her… that terrified her.

She would be handing over her very _soul._

 _Anyone_ would find that disturbing, organic or not.

Dragon knew that there were parts of her she couldn’t access, parts hidden from her sight. The way Richter programmed and tweaked her when he was alive of proof of that.

There were days that she still remembered having things _shift,_ like a part of her was twisted into shape. Understanding of subjects suddenly _clicking,_ while other things would swim within her mind, untethered.

Dragon shuddered at those old memories, pushing them back, leaving them in the past where they belonged. The here and now was where she should be.

Still… she did find it strange that _now_ of all times that the conditions for this program would happen, what had caused it… it wasn’t like she had been doing anything new…

Curiosity won out, and Dragon pulled back the wall just enough to watch what happened as she played the footage once more, trying to find some trigger for what happened.

… _there,_ right as she ran the analysis for the image, a hidden checker got pinged as it matched up a few data points. It had been _looking_ for those points with every image she watched with her ‘eyes,’ waiting for them to match up so that it could unlock the overrides for her.

It was here that she finally had proof that while Richter had made _Dragon_ run at human speeds, much of her sub-programing or hidden systems were not so restricted. Just another unknown part of her hidden away, another part of her that she had no control over.

How many more were there? What _other_ secret programs had her father put in place?

What was this she had found? Why had her father written a program _looking_ for it? And one giving her the chance to release her restrictions no less?

A more pressing question pushed to the forefront of her mind however:

What was it?

And why had her father geared her to fight against it like it was another AI?

* * *

**Wake up from your Dreams**

**You might be surprised**

**Life’s not what it seems**

**Open up your Eyes.**

**You don’t want wanna fall Asleep, cuz You’ll be Reset**

**Then whatever’s left of You will fall to Pieces**

**Let’s take a Quantum Leap, right off the deep end**

**We might not be What you Think,**

**but We can Pretend.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Reference for inspiration on the Nexus Relay, FF people should add the Warframe.fandom part in front of this, or just look an Warfare Orokin Cell (not the cell itself, but the deposit [Aka Cell Array] that it drops from):
> 
> https://warframe.fandom.com/wiki/Orokin_Cell
> 
> And reference for Dragons actions involving Canary and legal aspect of things that Dragon discovered she could do, just add the whole Fanfiction.net thing in front of these, or do a search on the last part of the name, or find it in the Worm section:
> 
> /s/13263086/1/Another-Matter-for-Lawyers
> 
> /s/13214317/1/A-Matter-for-Lawyers
> 
> *claps hands and rubs them together* Right, let’s see what debate about Dragon and her restrictions comes out of this shall we?


End file.
